


meet me halfway

by choi_kimmy



Series: in any version of reality, i'll still choose you [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - The Lake House (2006) Fusion, And by long I mean two years difference long, F/M, Fantasy, Happy Ending, Long-Distance Relationship, Maria and Pepper are Nat's BFFs, Might Also Be Angsty Sorry, Might Be Slowburn, Steve and Bucky and Sam are inseparable bros, Timing Is An Absolute Bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-05-31 02:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19416889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choi_kimmy/pseuds/choi_kimmy
Summary: “Steve got himself a potential pen-pal from the future.” Bucky offers an explanation, his tone a mock exaggeration. Steve darts another glare at his best friend who is clearly having too much fun teasing him.In other words; Natasha quits her job, moves back into the city and suddenly she is communicating through a magical mailbox that clearly transcends time with a guy named Steve who claims to be living two years in the past.  Can the new year get any weirder?





	1. all of the steps that led me to you

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This AU is inspired by The Lake House (2006), one of my favorite movies of all time. For those who have seen the movie, you would roughly know the direction of this fic, and you would recognise a few scenes that are slightly similar to the movie. However I have also changed quite a number of things, and you'll know it by the end of this fic.
> 
> This will also be a fic that is at least 20k long, probably broken down to about 3 chapters, excluding an epilogue. I hope you will enjoy reading this, because I really enjoyed writing it (even if the planning, the two differing timelines, gave me a headache hahaha). 
> 
> P/S: English isn't quite my first language so please forgive me for any errors you find.

Natasha stands in the middle of an empty room, taking in the view in front of her one last time, her breathing slow, her heart surprisingly calm, as though she isn’t about the close two doors in her life. Looking out of the glass panels always has this effect on her, after all. She is indoors, but when she looks hard enough at the water rippling across the lake, she could hear the low sounds of the lake water lapping against the rocks, hear the crickets sing. When Natasha closes her eyes and imagines the serene surrounding, she could see the midnight glimmer and the noon purple glow. She could almost see peace.

Natasha feels a brush against her leg, a soft purr as she opens her eyes. She looks down and scoops the creature into her arms. “Will you miss this place, too?” She whispers, scratching between her cat’s ears.

Liho simply meows in response, pushing her paws against Natasha and then attempting to leap away from her grasp. “ _Liho._ ” Natasha sighs, feeling the squirms of her cat as she makes her way towards Liho’s cage. There’s a struggle to get Liho in, but Natasha manages to a few seconds after. “Behave, or I’ll leave you here.” She warns halfheartedly with a wag of a finger. Natasha knows though, that deep down, leaving Liho behind isn’t an option, not since the stupid cat kept lingering outside her front door after Natasha moved in, seemingly an uninvited package that came along with renting the place. Days after, she realised that she’d gotten herself a messy, tiny new housemate, and Natasha resorted to naming it Liho and becoming a mother.

“I guess it’s time to leave.” She finally says, picking up the cage and looking around at the empty house one last time. There’s a sinking feeling in her stomach that she can’t pinpoint, but it is evident and it is there, a reminder of what she has to give up. Natasha makes her way slowly towards her car, stopping by the mailbox to drop a letter in it, addressed to the future tenant of this house she’d grown to love. “We’ll be okay, Liho.”

She gives one final look at the lakehouse.

“Let’s go home.” Natasha tells Liho with a soft sigh. It’s hard to sound convincing when she knows her heart isn’t in the right place. 

* * *

“You’re going to regret this.”

Natasha doesn’t look up, unfazed at the voice that has penetrated the otherwise quiet room backstage. She’d expected this, anyway. There’s a lapse of silence, the tension in the air rising. With a sigh, Natasha finally looks up to meet the cold gaze of Madame B, the headmistress of the Red Room Academy, her demeanour rigid and tensed. Natasha’s expression betrays none of her thoughts. “What if I won’t?”

Madame B’s reply is curt. “You will.”

Natasha doesn’t falter, doesn’t back down. She shakes her head firmly. “I won’t.”

“Giving up on everything you’ve worked for, right when you are so close to being at the top of the pyramid.” Madame B hisses then, taking a step forward, her eyes dark and borderline angry. It almost causes Natasha to flinch, but she squares her shoulder in confidence, her eyes still trained on her (soon to be ex-) mentor.

“Everything I’ve worked hard for, or _you?_ ” Natasha returns with a shake of her head.

“You know to me that means one of the same thing.” Madame B snaps, clearly still livid. “I did not polish you to perfection only for you to _quit_ halfway. There are so many offers out there for you, _Natalia_ —” Natasha grimaces, “—one which includes the _Bolshoi,_ all of them wanting you to play the leads to their productions. This is just the _beginning._ Do you even know what that would lead to? What that means?”

Natasha couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, which infuriates the headmistress even more. “I’m pretty sure what it means to me is entirely different than what it means to you.”

Madame B sucks in a long breath, trying to calm herself. “Am I a joke to you?”

“You’re not.” Natasha shakes her head.

“Then why?” Madame B coldly asks.

“You said so yourself. It’s just the _beginning._ How long do I have to keep doing this? I’ve put two decades of my life to this Academy. Have you ever wondered that maybe I just don’t want to do this anymore?”

Madame B scoffs in disbelief, as if what Natasha just said were pure nonsense. “I practically made you into a _star._ You _owe_ me, Natalia.”

“Which is why I’m performing this production for you one last time!” Natasha raises her voice, her patience thinning. “Headmistress, you need to _stop_ projecting your own dreams onto me. I’m _not_ you. I don’t want what you want.”

“Then what do you want?”

It is a simple question, yet Natasha couldn’t find the words to reply her.

“You’re throwing away a lifetime of opportunities that don’t come knocking on your doorstep suddenly. It takes _years_ to be noticed, and now that you’re finally on that path, you decided to _quit?_ How can I understand your decision?”

“I don’t expect you to.” Natasha heaves a sigh, suddenly tired. “I don’t even like ballet anymore.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Natasha knows the immediate effect it would have on Madame B. It is like a harsh slap to her face; her star student saying that, her number one, the person she placed so much hope and aspirations on to fulfil a dream she herself couldn’t. It has been going on for years, but Natasha has always told herself repeatedly that it is just a phase she would grow out from, that she would eventually learn to fall back in love with the art she’d once upon a time enjoyed doing. It’s been almost a decade, yet her feelings remained unchanged. 

“You’re my biggest regret, Natalia.” is all Madame B says in Russian, before she stalks out from the room, slamming the door loudly behind her with a force that nearly knocks down the frame on the wall.

Natasha breathes in and out slowly, trying to calm her pounding heart. Madame B’s words don’t hurt her, they’ve no longer hurt since she’d learned it the hard way years ago. She glances at the clock on her makeup table—an hour to go before her last performance, an hour to go before she finally closes this door she’d left opened far too long.

* * *

_Dear Future Tenant,_

_Congratulations, it is official that you have an impeccable taste in choosing this house as your home. The view in the living room is spectacular, isn’t it? Living here for 11 months had been a comfortable, beautiful experience for me. If you are anything like me, I am sure you will thoroughly enjoy your time here just as much as I did._

_I am writing this letter to request for a favour from a kind stranger. I’ve made the necessary changes, but there’s a possibility of one or two future senders who did not get the memo of my moving. Should that happen, and you find yourself with letters addressed to an unknown woman by my name, could you please forward them to my new address?_

_Thank you._

_Sincerely,_

_Natasha Romanoff._

_23rd December 2018_

_P/S: The smudged stains on the wall (the black and red wiggly lines) in the living room were already there when I moved in. I can’t seem to remove them, though, I suspect they were drawn using permanent markers._

* * *

Unbeknown to Natasha, her letter reaches into the hands of a stranger faster than she would have expected; Steve Rogers frowns, eyebrows furrowed together in pure confusion as he digests the words on the letter. He’d just reached the lakehouse not too long ago and saw that the mailbox flag was upright. When he peered into it, half expecting not to see anything in the mailbox, he hadinstead, found a plain white envelope with a letter addressed to no one in particular. Curious, Steve had taken out the letter to read it. Now, he has found himself in a situation he can’t seem to comprehend.

“Steve, where do you want me to put this?” A shout from the front door interrupts his thoughts. Steve pulls his eyes from the letter just in time to see his best friend, James Barnes, or Bucky, walking into the living room, a huge box in his hands. “Anywhere is fine, really.” He replies simply, eyes gazing back onto the odd letter in his hands. Bucky dumps the box gently on the ground beside the glass panels and jogs to where Steve is, peering at the letter. “What’s that?”

“A letter I found in the mailbox.” Steve shows the piece of paper to Bucky. “Tell me I’m not blind and that the content of the letter makes no sense.”

Bucky takes one look at it and smirks. “Well, she’s got pretty penmanship that’s for sure.”

“Bucky.”

His best friend laughs, then reads the letter. He shrugs. “Maybe you were wrong when you thought this house was vacant all along. Maybe someone did live here before this and you didn’t know about it.”

Steve gives Bucky a hard look. He wants to believe that maybe Bucky’s right, maybe he did get the information from the landowner wrong. Except, it _wouldn’t_ have been wrong, considering the landowner was his deceased father who had passed his ownership to Steve in his will, and absolutely _no_ one had approached Steve to rent the place. 

“I’m saying a _squatter._ ” Bucky rolls his eyes automatically. “Maybe someone has been trespassingall this time and you never knew about it because you were busy being a city boy.”

“And then leave a letter behind as evidence of her breaking the laws?” Steve deadpans, to which Bucky shrug nonchalantly. “I mean, what’s the big deal? You’re living here now anyway.”

There’s a pause as Steve crosses his arms. “Finish reading the letter first, Buck.”

His friend does as instructed, and Steve sees the brief look of recognition, then surprise, followed by confusion spread across Bucky’s face. He doesn’t have to ask him to know he has reached the part of the letter that made him this weirded out. Bucky looks up and squints his eyes around the living room, surveying every crook and cranny of the walls. Then he turns to look at Steve again. “Uhh…I want to say it might just be an innocent mistake?”

“But?”

Bucky sighs. “There’s no other houses in this vicinity.” 

“Exactly.”

“Odd.” Bucky tosses the letter back into Steve’s hands, then grins. “But probably the most exciting thing that has happened in your life this month. Are you going to reply?”

“Maybe.” Steve shrugs, pocketing the letter. “She did leave behind her new address.”

“Aw,” Bucky dramatically clasps his hands together. Steve rolls his eyes again, already sensing what he is going to say. “maybe you two would suddenly become pen-pals after this. If she’s as pretty as her handwriting is, I’d tell you to—”

“Bucky,” Steve warns lightly. “I didn’t hire you to help me move my things by standing around and putting unnecessary thoughts in my head.”

“Hey, _you_ were the one asking for my opinion in the first place.”

Steve laughs. “Come on, let’s take out the remaining boxes from your truck. We’ll save this weird letter for another day.”

* * *

It is the day after, during Christmas Eve, that Steve finds himself drawn to the letter sitting forlornly on his desk. Reminded by its odd content, he reads it again for the umpteen time before rummaging for a paper and pen from the drawer. He writes a short reply, giving this woman, whoever she is, a benefit of the doubt that it was a mistake, and that the letter was meant for another house at some other place. Steve scribbles the address provided by Ms Romanoff onto the envelope, thinking it is unfamiliar but knowing it has to be some place in the city judging from the postcode. 

His phone rings then, and Steve answers without looking at the caller ID. “Hey.”

“Rebecca wants me to invite you over for Christmas lunch tomorrow.” 

Steve finds himself smiling. “Trust little Becky to take care of this lonely guy.” He could almost see Bucky rolling his eyes from the other line. 

“Maybe if you’d actually accepted Fury’s kind intention of setting up a date for you, you won’t be alone on Christmas.”

He sighs in response. “You know I’m not ready yet.”

There’s a pause, then, “It’s been a year, Steve.”

“Yeah, I know.” 

The line is quiet on the other end, and Steve knows his friend is probably contemplating if he should say what has been in his mind for months. In the end, Bucky doesn’t, opting instead to divert the topic back to Christmas lunch.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Steve nods, even if he knows Bucky won’t be able to see him. He is somewhat grateful though, that Bucky doesn’t press on. “Bye Buck.”

The second he dumps his phone back on the desk, Steve feels the lingering feeling of sorrow building up in his heart. It’s been a year, but the pain is evidently still there. He stills sees her when he closes his eyes sometimes, still hears her voice ringing in his head in spurs of moments. He misses her—Peggy—greatly, but the universe dictates that they weren’t meant to be.

His eyes land on the letter, and Steve heaves a huge sigh. One thing at the time, he thinks to himself as he neatly folds the paper into three parts and inserts it into an envelope. He figures he could probably drop it off at the post office tomorrow on the way to work. Steve wonders if he’ll get a reply after that.

* * *

It is a little over the new year, but Natasha realises how much things have changed in just a span of days. For one, she is officially jobless, and two, her new apartment, for the lack of better words, kinda sucks. Just one week ago, she was able to gather her thoughts and think things through by gazing out of the glass panels overseeing the lake beyond the house. But now, when Natasha looks outside the windows of her complex, all she sees are other buildings clouding her view of the beyond. She doesn’t exactly know what to make of it yet, considering it was her own decision to move out from the lakehouse and back into the city, but that doesn’t mean she feels nothing over this huge change of scenery.

“So what are you planning to do now that you have all the time in the world?” Her best friend since high school, Maria Hill, casually asks on an evening in her new home. Maria has been completely supportive of Natasha’s decision to quit ballet, but Natasha could tell that her friend is worried for her. 

“Honestly,” Natasha begins slowly, “I have no idea.”

It embarrasses her, if she is to be honest with herself. She’d grown up only knowing how to dance, how to perform. She’d been trained and honed from the beginning to do just that, she was never asked if this was what she wanted in life, if becoming a prima ballerina was her dream. Natasha had been thrown into that situation without a choice, without ever having an opportunity to decide. And now that she finally has, it is no wonder that she doesn’t know what to do next. There’s a thought that haunts her, words from Madame B at the back of her head. She has been so sure that she wouldn’t regret making that decision, but what if she wakes up one day and realises that Madame B was right?

“Dancing is all I know.” She admits, a little bitter at that realisation. “I don’t even know what I want now.”

Maria shrugs, making it as though it is no big deal that Natasha is completely lost in life. “It’s no big deal. Things like this take time, Nat.”

“Says the one who’s got her life figured out in eighth grade.” Natasha teases, managing a smile. She still remembers rather vividly, the memory of young Maria bursting into her room one fine day and announcing that she wanted to be a detective. 

Maria grins slightly. “I got lucky, that’s all.”

“Still.” Natasha gives her a pointed look, though it is adorned with obvious admiration. She wants to tell Maria that she envies that, envies her having figured out her life’s direction, but Natasha decides to take a sip of her wine instead. She grimaces slightly, looking at the glass. “This is not strong enough.”

“It’s _wine.”_ Maria states the obvious. “Vodka will kill you early if you keep drinking it.” 

Natasha merely chuckles lowly, keeping mum as Maria starts again, “Pepper told me she offered you a job.”

Virginia Potts, or otherwise known to her close friends as Pepper, is another friend in their peer group. She’d gone to the same high school as them too, but it really was only in recent years that she became closer to them. Pepper had gone off to work in her boyfriend’s company after completing college, and is clearly calling most of the shots today. When Natasha told her she was going to quit doing ballet, Pepper had glanced at her shell-shocked, her eyes as wide as saucers. _But you’re so good at it,_ Pepper had told her that instinctively, to which Natasha just shook her head and replied, _doesn’t mean I like it._ It took longer for Pepper to truly fathom her decision, being the practical person she is, it was impossible to picture Natasha not liking dancing after all, given how she’d perform on stage. Before Natasha could see it coming, Pepper had casually thrown in a job offer as a junior executive, citing that the door is always opened for her if she needs a job. _That’s rather biased, don’t you think?_ Natasha had replied, though with a smile, _but thanks, Pepper. I’ll think about it._

“She did.” Natasha nods, then shrugs. “But I don’t know if I’ll fit into Stark industries.”

“You’re a fast learner.” Maria encourages. “Pepper wouldn’t offer you the job if she didn’t think you could do it.”

Natasha hesitates. “I don’t know if I’m ready for an entirely different environment. My whole life, I’ve only been exposed to performing arts, I—”

“Nat,” Maria interrupts her easily, her tone firm, “It’s okay to try different things and make mistakes.”

It’s not that she doesn’t agree with what her best friend had said, but it is difficult to grasp something as simple as that when her whole life had been fed with how everything needs to be done to perfection, that she couldn’t afford to make even a single mistake. 

When Natasha couldn’t find it in her to tell Maria that, she decides to smoothly change their topic of conversation. “So how do you find this place?”

“You mean other than it being a total downgrade from the lakehouse?” Maria replies, “It’s okay, I guess. It’ll take some time getting used to, but the price for its location is pretty good. Plus it’s a new complex.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Maria continues, “I still don’t understand why you had to move out, though.” 

“I can’t afford the rent there now that I’m jobless.” Natasha puts in plainly, though Maria doesn’t quite buy her excuse. She’d been her friend long enough to know that moving out meant closing another chapter of her life and to start another at a clean slate. Maria doesn’t say anything to show that she is aware though, if her silence is any indication. “Plus the house is way too huge for someone living alone like me, don’t you think?”

“That has never been a problem to you.” Maria counters easily, then lets her eyes wander around the apartment. “I bet Liho hates it here.”

That made Natasha laugh. She turns around, scanning the living room but not spotting her feline creature. “She probably hates me more for moving her here.”

“Well what were you supposed to do? Leave her there until the next tenant moves in?” Maria chuckles. “Speaking of which, do you know if anyone has moved in yet?”

“It’s not mine to worry about anymore.” Natasha states, then frowns as a sudden thought struck her. “Ah shit, I just remembered something.”

“Hmm?” 

“I actually wrote the unit number wrongly in my journal, which means it’s probably also written wrongly on the letter I left behind for the future tenant.” Natasha sighs. “Which means I need to go back to the lakehouse and correct the mistake.”

Maria takes another sip of her wine. “Really? You want to drive 45 minutes south just to correct a letter you left behind?”

“I don’t have a choice.” Natasha just shrugs. “It’s fine, it’s not like I have anything else to do now anyway.”

“I’d volunteer to follow, but I’ll be pretty packed at work this coming week.” 

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine alone.” She dismisses Maria with a wave of her hand nonchalantly. _I always have, anyway._

* * *

The next day, Natasha arrives at the lakehouse just before noon, a soft smile automatically on her face as she takes in the nature surrounding her. The lakehouse is still the same from when she left, no cars parked in the driveway, the flower pots still arranged in the same manner since the day she moved in 11 months ago. There is nothing to indicate that it has been occupied by another (lucky) person, which somehow relieves Natasha.

She makes her way towards the mailbox, opening it to see the lone letter she left behind. But as she takes it out, Natasha is already frowning. 

_This isn’t mine,_ she thinks to herself at once, not recognising the handwriting on the front. The odd part is not seeing her name written neatly on the envelope, but that she is reading her new house address. How did this letter end up here, she thinks in furtherance, looking at the house. She is walking to the front door before even realising what she is doing, peering into the window to see if she could make out anyone or anything happening inside, even ringing the bell, but all’s quiet and serene. 

Natasha shrugs, still not thinking too much of the letter in her hands. She unseals the envelope and takes out the letter to read it, slowly making her way back to the car.

_Hello Ms Romanoff,_

_Thank you for the letter, however, I must say that I don’t quite understand you. No offence, ma’am, but do allow me to explain._

_You see, I’m actually the first ever tenant for this (which I do agree) beautiful house. Before I moved in, it remained empty for a year or so since project lakehouse was completed. I don’t know how your letter ended up in my mailbox, perhaps it was delivered by mistake? I also can’t help but to notice that you got your year wrong; it is 2016, after all._

_I hope you have an enjoyable week, nonetheless. Merry Advance Christmas to you._

_Sincerely,_

_Steve Rogers_

_24th December 2016_

_P/S: I double checked, just in case, and I do not see any stains on the walls of my living room._

Natasha has already halted in her movement by the time she reaches the end of the letter. She rereads the letter again. And again. She frowns, the creases on her forehead deepening at each passing second. Natasha whirls behind her to dart a confused look at the closed door of the lakehouse, then back at the letter again. 

Finally, she breathes out. “What the _fuck_?”

* * *

“Mr Rogers?”

Steve had been tending to the flowers outside his house when he hears his name. He glances up to meet the gaze of a smiling postman, a few letters in his hands. “Call me Steve, please.” He says warmly as the postman hands him the mail. 

“Steve,” The postman starts again. “Sorry to bother, I wanted to ask if you’ve gotten back the letter you sent a week ago.”

Steve blinks once, then twice. He remembers sending a letter out to the mysterious Ms Romanoff, but he definitely doesn’t remember getting that letter back. “What do you mean, sir?”

“Oh,” The postman is slightly flustered now. “I did put it into your mailbox, though. The letter you sent was undelivered because of an error in the address of the recipient.”

Steve stands, removing the garden gloves he is wearing. “An error?”

“Yes.” The postman nods, still flustered. “Well, to put it frankly, the address doesn’t exist…yet.” He adds the last word a few seconds late, after Steve’s expression has gone from curious to utter disbelief. “What do you mean it doesn’t exist yet?” Steve asks, unable to comprehend what his friendly neighbourhood postman is telling him.

“The address is for an apartment complex that is…uh…” The postman scratches the back of his neck nervously, as if he too, couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened. “…currently a construction site. The building is about three quarters done. It is expected to only be completed by 2018.”

Steve’s jaw drops open slightly. But he recomposes himself quickly. “Maybe it’s just a mistake. Don’t worry about it, Mr…?”

“Lee,” The postman juts a hand out and Steve accepts the handshake. “Stan Lee.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Steve nods, then continues. “So you said you placed the letter back into my mailbox?”

Stan nods. “Yes, yesterday morning.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows. There wasn’t any letters yesterday when he checked the mailbox in the evening, but he is too confused to argue. He merely nods. “I see. Someone probably took it on my behalf.” He lies, and if the postman could sense that he’s a terrible liar, given how he’s the only one living in the house, Stan doesn’t show it.

“Alright, just thought of letting you know, that’s all. I’ll see you around, I guess?” 

Steve smiles. “Sure, thank you Stan.” Then quickly asks before the postman leaves, “Wait, do you know if there are any nearby houses here?”

Stan shakes his head. “No, this lakehouse is the only house in this area.”

“Thought so.” Steve mumbles to himself, but puts on another smile at the postman in front of him. “Thanks, Stan. Have a good day.”

* * *

“I mean, he called me _ma’am,_ who calls people _ma’am_ at this time and age?”

Maria chews her fries slowly, her eyes still trained on her best friend. The second she’d reached the diner, Natasha had launched into a rant that has lasted for a record breaking time of—Maria checks her watch as discreetly as possible—almost 10 minutes. Maria doesn’t stop her, though, mildly surprised that she is still listening to Natasha going on and on about this crazy new tenant who responded to her innocent letter she’d placed at the lakehouse before she moved out.

“—the year _2016_? Is he _for real?_ What sort of _prank_ is this?”

As articulate as Natasha Romanoff can be (and she always is, mind you), Maria realises that she’s gone back to the beginning of her rant for the _fourth_ time, and decides that it is probably time for her to intervene. Maria begins, “Nat—” but before she could say anything else, Natasha is already jabbing onto the bottom part of the letter rapidly a few times, throwing Maria off from continuing her sentence.

“ _No_ stain on the living room walls, Maria, _oh,_ so _I’m_ the liar now. You’ve been to that house before—”

“Yes, and I—“

“—and you _remember_ the stain on the wall, right? The red and black squiggly lines all over the bottom part of the wall, right at the entrance, fairly obvious if you ask me, he must be blind if he didn’t see it. And what’s up with him saying he’s the first ever tenant to reside in that lakehouse? Did he not get the information from his agent that I—”

“ _Natasha!”_ Maria finally lets out a half screech, then lowers her voice immediately after her friend stops spewing words from her mouth. “You need to calm down.”

Natasha narrows her eyes. “I _am_ calm.”

Maria ignores her remark, taking the letter into her hands though already knowing what the content says, judging from the entire rant she’d just heard from Natasha. “Maybe he just has a lot of time on his plate, yknow? The letter was in his mailbox after all, maybe he didn’t intend to send it out to you.”

“Exactly.” Natasha snaps her fingers. “Why would he leave that letter in the mailbox when he could just send it to my new address?” 

“He could have thought the postman would come around to collect it? Maybe he’s not from around here so he doesn’t know that he has to send letters by going to the post office—” Maria offers an explanation which is met by another sharp look from Natasha. “I’m just _saying_! Don’t look at me like that, Nat.”

“It’s been 24 hours since I last read this stupid letter and I can’t seem to get it out of my head!” Natasha barks in both frustration and annoyance. “The year 2016? Does he honestly think this is funny? That the letter I wrote is a joke?”

“I hope not.” Maria mutters beneath her breath, knowing immediately that this man is going to get it from her best friend if they meet. No sooner did she think of that, Natasha stands abruptly, her face shrewd with determination. 

“I’m going to the lakehouse.” She states and Maria groans inwardly, “I’ll march right into the living room and point out that stain on the wall. Today’s Sunday anyway, he _better_ be in.”

“What if he’s not?”

Natasha pauses, then shrugs. “Then I’ll just leave him another letter.”

* * *

_Mr Rogers,_

_I came back to correct an error in my new address, only to find your letter instead. I tried to see if you were home, but you weren’t so this is why I’m writing you a second letter. It has come to my realisation that you thought I was being funny. I wasn’t._

_For the record, I moved into the house on the 23rd January 2018, and was told that the previous owner had vacated the house at the end of 2017._

_Also, the stain I was talking about is in plain sight, right as you enter the living room, you should be able to see it. I honestly don’t know how you could have missed that._

_Oh right. Happy New Year, by the way. May_ _2019_ _be a great year for you._

_Sincerely,_

_Natasha Romanoff_

_6th January 2019_

* * *

“You’re never going to believe this.”

Steve announces the second he steps into the house as Bucky peers out from the kitchen with an eyebrow raised. He’d decided to visit Steve again that afternoon, bringing his sister Rebecca and his nephew, George, with him. Rebecca, who is just as close to Steve as he is, wanted to tour thefamous lakehouse, knowing it was designed by Steve’s father.“What?”

Steve waves an envelope in the air, his expression an all too familiar look of confusion. “She replied.”

“Who?” It is first instinct for Bucky to ask as Steve drops the letter on the counter. Bucky reaches out for it immediately, and when he sees the familiar penmanship on the front, his mouth forms a small ‘o’. He then proceeds to read its content, curious of what this woman replied, and why Steve looks so stressed out and confused.

“This is…” Bucky tries to find for a word to describe the peculiarity of this second letter, “…something.”

“How can someone be so sure of the _wrong_ year?” Steve points at the double underline strokes in red under the year 2019. “At this point, she has got to be pranking me, right?”

“ _Orrr_ …maybe she’s really from the future.” Bucky jokes, and earns a glare from Steve. “What? The world is filled with so much uncertainty, anyway. No one should be this insistent unless she knows she’s right.”

Steve frowns. “And what if this is all really just a prank?”

“Then she’s probably _way_ _too_ free.” Bucky throws a few chips into his mouth, clearly unbothered by the mysterious letter. “Honestly, stop fretting. Just ignore her if it bugs you that much.”

“I’m not fretting!” He groans, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just…I don’t know, I’m really confused. I want to ignore this but there’s just something about this letter, this woman—”

“Did I just hear Steve say this _woman_?” A new voice joins them, and Bucky’s sister, Rebecca, appears in view. She’s somewhat beaming, eyes twinkling with excitement. Steve realises she’d probably only heard the back part of his sentence, so he shakes his hands quickly. “No, not like _that_ , Becky. It’s—”

“Steve got himself a potential pen-pal from the future.” Bucky offers, his tone a mock exaggeration. Steve darts another glare at his best friend who is clearly having too much fun teasing him. Rebecca quirks an eyebrow, clearly confused, but she goes along with it. “Oh, really? How?”

Bucky snatches the letter from Steve’s hand in an instant and passes it to his sister. “He’s been receiving hostile letters from a woman claiming to have lived in this place 2 years from now.”

“I wouldn’t say _hostile.”_ Steve fights the urge to smack a palm against his face, though he looks at Rebecca, wanting to see her reaction to that peculiar letter. The woman reads the letter calmly, her expression impassive and betraying none of her thoughts. When she’s done, she places the letter back on the countertop. “Well, that’s interesting.”

Bucky grins, reaching over to give a high five to his sister. “That’s what I’ve been telling him, but Steve is too _rigid_ to enjoy this whole ‘ _ordeal’_.” 

Rebecca laughs just as Steve rolls his eyes, but she is already retreating from the kitchen. “I better check on George, he is way too quiet for my liking.”

As Bucky’s sister leaves the kitchen, Steve sinks into the chair beside Bucky, who has shifted his attention back to the chips in front of him. There’s silence for two seconds, before a loud _oh my god, George!_ is heard from the living room, and both men nearly bolted out of their chairs in a speed of lightning. “Rebecca, is everything all—“

Steve is the first to enter the living room, stopping his sentence midair when he sees the situation in front of him. Bucky stops beside him, then groans, before continuing towards his screaming nephew. “George, you naughty boy!” He chides the toddler, picking him from the floor. Rebecca is semi frantic, taking wet wipes from her handbag to scrub the section of the wall her son just vandalised. Steve goes back to the kitchen to take a wet rug, and returns to kneel beside Rebecca. “God, I’m really sorry, Steve. He must have gotten his hands on the sharpies in my handbag.”

“No worries about it. That’s toddlers for you.” Steve reassures, not thinking much about it as he too, tries to rub the squiggly lines on his wallpaper. They don’t come off, and Rebecca lets out a huge sigh, guilt laced in her voice. “You’re only in the house for like one week and my son has already vandalised it. I shouldn’t have left him alone even for five minutes.”

“It’s fine, Becky. I’ll figure something out.”

“If it doesn’t come off, let me know, I’ll pay for you to replace the wallpaper. It’s right at such plain sight, too.” 

And then it hits him, so suddenly that Steve nearly topples backward. His eyes widen as he stares at the lines on his wall—they’re black _and_ red. Steve stands up so quickly that he almost loses his footing, but he is already making his way towards his study, ignoring both Bucky and Rebecca who are giving him confused looks. 

He comes back to the living room with a piece of paper in his hands, it is the first letter he received from the strange woman claiming to have lived in his house. He reads the p/s note over and over again, darting strange looks at the spot George had absentmindedly drawn on.

“Steve, what’s wrong?” Rebecca asks worriedly, exchanging a look with Bucky.

It’s a few seconds after that Steve finally looks at both individuals. He meets Bucky’s gaze, whose eyes are also on the letter in his hands, his expression an indication that he too, has caught on with the situation.

“You can’t be serious.” Bucky is the first to break the silence.

Steve recalls what Stan the postman told him, about how the address Ms Romanoff had provided him had been invalid, how it was for an apartment complex that didn’t quite exist yet. He thinks long and hard, trying to see a realistic explanation to this bizarre occurrence.

When he couldn’t find one that doesn’t involve Ms Romanoff being from the future, Steve finds a headache settling itself on the base of his head.

“I need to sit.”

* * *

It’s been two days since that fleeting realisation, and in full honesty, Steve still couldn’t really wrap his head around what is happening to him.

Although hesitant, Steve ends up writing another letter after Bucky pushes him to. His best friend is clearly more receptive of the idea that he might actually be communicating with someone from the future, and has been calling him nonstop since he left, asking if he has written to her. He finally tells him that he has, but that he doesn’t know what to do next.

“Just put it in that damn mailbox!” Bucky says excitedly. “Didn’t you say the postman did the same and that was how you got a second letter from her afterwards? I’m telling you, that mailbox might just be what’s bridging two timelines together.”

After much contemplation, Steve heeds to his words, and drops the letter into the mailbox. Hesitantly, he lifts the flag up and stares at the mailbox for a long time, wondering how normal it looks. It can’t possibly be real that this ordinary looking mailbox is some sort of portal to the future, or what Bucky suggested, a bridge connecting two timelines together, would it? 

He lets out a sigh, smacking his face a few times. This can’t be real, it just _can’t_ possibly be real.

But what if it _is_? His inner voice asks. The world is supposed to be vast, isn’t it? It’s supposed to be filled with millions of ideas and endless possibilities. What if there really is a chance of this future tenant of his father’s house, Natasha Romanoff, communicating with him from a different period of time than him?

Steve takes in a deep breath before going back to his house. All he can do now, is to wait.

* * *

_Dear Ms Romanoff,_

_Thank you for your letters. Truth be told, I do not know how to make of this situation._

_Remember when you told me about my living room stains? And then I told you there weren’t any? Would you believe me if I told you that my best friend’s nephew came over two days ago, and drew some squiggly lines on the exact spot you said in your letter? Would you believe me if I told you those lines were drawn using black and red sharpies? That no matter the methods I’ve tried to remove them, they just…can’t be removed?_

_As for the first letter I replied to you, do you know that it came back undelivered to me because the address doesn’t exist yet? I was informed that the apartment complex you’re living in will only be completed in 2018. I’ve checked it out myself and it’s true._

_You said it’s 2019 in your letter. Would you believe me if I said that it really is 2017 for me? Would you believe that there’s a possibility that I’m from the past, and you, from the future?_

_Sincerely,_

_Steve Rogers_

_8th January 2017_

* * *

It is almost Maria’s lunch break when she receives a text from Natasha telling her that she is outside her precinct. It hasn’t even been ten minutes since they stepped foot into the diner when Natasha quietly takes out another letter from her bag and slides it across the table to the detective. Maria doesn’t ask any questions, only reading it as she munches onto her burger. She has read the letter for more than three times, and it is only after the fifth time reading that she finally clears her throat to say something. “Yknow, this dude actually sounds pretty sincere.”

Natasha stops dipping her fries into the ketchup on her plate. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is _clearly_ a prank.”

“Okay even if it is, what have you got to lose?” Maria asks. “It’s not like he’s scamming you for money. He’s only asking if you believe in what’s happening.”

“I _don’t._ ” Natasha shakes her head firmly, her food forgotten. “What world does he think we’re living in? Some comic book universe?”

“Haven’t you heard of the string theory? Parallel universes? The possibilities are endless!” All the years of knowing her, Natasha is surprised to see Maria, who is usually the most realistic amongst the three of them, this excited over something that is uncertain and inexplainable. “Look, weren’t you curious on why his reply was found in the mailbox instead of your apartment? If we’re going by what he said, that he lives in 2017, then it makes sense that you never got that letter. The address—”

“Yeah, okay.” Natasha rubs her temples, her head truly hurts at the moment. “that does answer my question _if_ it is true. But it just can’t possibly be true, would it?”

“Have you considered asking Tony? He would know a thing or two about this I’m sure.”

Natasha shakes her head immediately. “I’ll like to keep this to myself for now, thank you very much.”

“Oookay,” Maria resumes eating her meal. “So what now?”

Natasha replies. “I don’t know.”

“Tell you what, go back to the lakehouse and write to this Steve person again.” The suggestion from Maria nearly causes Natasha to protest immediately, but the detective ignores her glare of obvious distaste and continues, “Just go with the flow, Nat. Write that letter, if it ends up as a prank, then we can laugh about it in the future, but if it’s not, just _imagine_ …”

Natasha takes in her friend’s words with a grumble, but she eventually relents. “ _Fine_ , okay, I’ll go back and write him another letter.”

* * *

Natasha stands in front of the mailbox, half regretting listening to Maria’s advice. In a span of a few days, she’d already made too many trips back to a place that isn’t even hers anymore. The house remains somewhat abandoned from the last time she visited, and her inner voice interruptsher thoughts to tell her that if it is still uninhabited, it is another check off the list of this _phenomenon_ being _real._

She is still doubtful though, even if deep down she acknowledges that it might _not_ be impossible., that there really is a possibility of this Steve Rogers living two years in the past. Slowly, Natasha reaches for her journal, tearing a piece out to write the reply she’d promised Maria she would. 

_Mr Rogers,_

She starts writing, then pauses to think of a proper sentence to pen down.

_I can’t say that I truly believe this entire situation we are in is real. But my best friend told me I should just go along with the flow and see what happens._

Natasha sighs and continues to write. 

_Unless of course, if this is all but a prank, I swear to God, I will personally hunt you down and give you an earful about wasting my time. Not that I have anything that significant to do now, anyway._

She stops, smacking her head rapidly. Why did she have to write that? “Oh whatever,” She mutters to herself and finishes the letter in a haste, making sure she pens down the date for today—9th January 2019. 

Then she puts the letter into the mailbox and lifts the flag up, an indication to tell this Steve Rogers guy that there’s a new letter. Natasha shakes her head at that thought, half realising that she’s already on the verge of accepting this idea that she’s communicating with someone not from the same year as her. She waits for a few more minutes, and is about to turn and leave when the flag suddenly drops down. Not quite processing what has happened, Natasha stays rooted on her spot, a frown etched on her face. It’s not like there was a sudden gush of wind, so how—

The flag rises by itself in a swift motion, as though someone has lifted it up. Natasha’s eyes nearly bulge out from their sockets, a cold air rushing through her body, her heart suddenly pounding hard against her chest. She pulls the lid down and peers in cautiously. 

There’s a lump on her throat now as she takes out the paper in the mailbox slowly. She pushes down the flag on instinct. At this point, it does feel like her heart is about to fly out from her chest—she sees her name on the paper and recognises instantly, Steve’s handwriting. Natasha peers into the mailbox again and finds that it is empty, the note she’d just written five minutes ago was no longer there.

“Is anyone out there?” Natasha asks out loud, suddenly nervous. When all remains quiet, save for the sound of birds chirping, it is then that she looks at the note from Steve.

_Ms Romanoff,_

_I can assure you that this is not a prank. I don’t actually have time for such games. Are you there at the lakehouse at this exact moment? Because I am and I just witnessed the most bizarre thing…well I’m sure you will (you had?) also see it because of this note._

_Please write back, I’ll be waiting._

_Sincerely,_

_Steve Rogers_

_9th January 2017_

Without thinking, Natasha reaches for her journal again, quickly scribbling onto a blank page before tearing it and tossing it into the mailbox.

_Mr Rogers,_

_Yes, I am at the lakehouse._

_Is this really happening?_

_Sincerely,_

_Natasha Romanoff_

_9th January 2019_

Then, she lifts the flag up again, and waits. When the flag drops again, Natasha nearly jumps out of her skin. “Oh my god…” She mutters over and over again. “Oh my god, Maria is right.”

The second the flag rises by itself, Natasha is already reaching into the mailbox, finding yet another note from Steve. There’s an inexplainable feeling fluttering into her stomach, one that she can’t seem to shake off now that she’d witnessed this peculiar exchange for herself. She reads Steve’s note quickly.

_Ms Romanoff,_

_Please call me Steve. I suppose you could say that yes, this really is happening. I’m at a loss for words, obviously. I can’t believe this is happening to us._

_Sincerely,_

_Steve_

_9th January 2017_

“Tell me about it.” Natasha says loudly, wondering if Steve could hear her, wherever he is. Just the thought of that sends goosebumps down her arms, and Natasha shudders before pushing the thought away to write a new note.

_Steve,_

_Natasha is fine for me, too. Like you, I am still trying to grasp what is happening. This is surreal._

_Sincerely,_

_Natasha_

_9th January 2019_

“This is insane,” Natasha breathes out, “Steve, this is insane.”

They promise to keep in touch.

* * *

“I thought I should let you know that I officially got a pen-pal.” 

It is a few hours after the revelation that Steve decides to call his best friend. Bucky lets out a howl (literally), spews some incoherent words that Steve couldn’t catch, and says, “No freaking way, so it’s _actually_ real?”

“Yup,” Steve doesn’t hesitate, not after what he’d just witnessed. “saw it happened right in front of my eyes.”

“Holy hell, what do you mean?”

“The mailbox flag rose up and went down by itself, and when I checked, there was a note from her. It happened for a few times before she told me she had to leave.” Steve says, realising how stupid it probably sounds like, but Bucky doesn’t seem to share his sentiments. “Oh my god, so both of you were exchanging letters at the _same_ time, but _not really,_ because you’re in 2017 and she’s in 2019. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, Bucky, that’s what I’m saying.” 

“I wished I was there to see that happening!This is insanely cool and freaky at the same time.”

“It is.” Steve breathes out, and it suddenly hits him hard that this _really_ is _happening._ “Oh god, you’re right, this really is insane.”

“But you _are_ keeping in touch with her, right?” Bucky asks. “Please tell me you are, Steve, because if you bailed, I swear—”

“We did promise to keep in touch, yes.” Steve replies, feeling his heart pounding again. “I’m not sure when her next letter would be, so we’ll just have to wait.”

“No shit, this is a waiting game.” 

“Anyway.” Steve starts again, changing the topic to the real reason why he decided to call his best friend. “Sam’s coming back tomorrow, I’ll be picking him up. Do you want to meet us at the airport or?”

Sam Wilson, another one of their best friends, had gone overseas for a two weeks holiday with his family. While Steve and Bucky had stuck to each other since they were kids, Sam only joined the pack in college. Since then though, the three of them have been inseparable. “I have an appointment in the afternoon, so I’ll probably just join you two wherever you will be in the evening. But please, please promise me you’ll wait for me before you tell Sam about what just happened to you.”

Steve smirks. “Bold of you to assume I’d tell him about Natasha.”

Bucky lets out a loud laugh, “Holy hell you two are already on a _first name basis_ with each other? No freaking way!” Before Steve could counter that, Bucky is already spewing his next sentence, “And don’t you even _dare_ try to hide this from Sam. It’s a huge thing! He’ll be devastated if you don’t tell him about it.”

Steve relents, knowing Bucky is right, and knowing that he really doesn’t have the heart to hide anything from Sam. “Alright, I’ll wait for you before I drop the bomb on him.”

Bucky chuckles. “I gotta go, my boss is giving me the eye. I’ll see you and Sam tomorrow!”

“Bye.” Steve ends the call, and the silence in his house overwhelms him in an instant. It gets him to think of what would be happening in the future—how would Natasha end up living here? Where did he decide to go? And why did Natasha decide to move out eventually? Would she really come back to talk to him, this random man from her past?

So many questions, but none of them to which he has answers for. 

* * *

_Dear Natasha,_

_Since we’ve solved the mystery to our first indirect encounter with each other, I guess I owe you a proper introduction._ _My name is Steven Grant Rogers, 29, and I’m a freelance artist still trying to get a breakthrough. What about you?_

_I realised that since you’re staying in the city, it wouldn’t be convenient for you to drop by all the time just to check if I replied to your letters. I figured we could set a day each week to check up on each other. How does Sunday sound like to you?_

_Sincerely,_

_Steve_

_15th January 2017_

_—_

_Dear Steve,_

_My birth name is actually Natalia, a name attached with many memories which I’m not entirely fond of, hence I’ve been Natasha for some time now._

_I’m 27 this year. I was a dancer, I did ballet for two decades before I decided to quit. My last performance was a 2018 Christmas production for the Nutcracker. It’s difficult to explain my decision, only that it wasn’t something I wanted to do anymore. I might be working in a friend’s company, still a little indecisive on that. My best friend, Maria, thinks I should go for it, that I’m worrying for nothing. I can’t seem to tell her that I’m terrified._

_Till the next Sunday,_

_Natasha_

_20th January 2019_

_—_

_Dear Natasha,_

_At least you know what you don’t want, it’s always okay to follow your heart._

_Give yourself a chance. You’ll never know it unless you try. Just look at us communicating through words even though we live two years apart (i still need some time to get used to saying this to be honest)—this wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t give me a chance and wrote back._

_I told my best friends about all this, by the way. Sam was initially sceptical about it, but I think he’s just happy that I’m talking to someone not the both of them, so he has accepted this unexpected arrangement. Bucky is absolutely elated by the fact that I’m conversing with someone from the future. He wants me to ask you if anything has changed two years from now, are there robots taking over the world?_

_Sincerely,_

_Steve_

_29th January 2017_

_—_

_Dear Steve,_

_Tell Bucky that nothing much has changed, I mean obviously we’re all travelling on vehicles that could fly, and there’s a new technology that allows us to read people’s thoughts…but yeah other than that, 2019 is relatively normal. Unfortunately, there are no robots in 2019. I’ll keep him posted, though._

_Maria knows about us, too. She was the one who encouraged me to talk to you in the first place. She thinks what we have with each other could potentially become a really special relationship.I mean, not in_ that _sense, plus she’s jumping like ten steps ahead, obviously, but it got me thinking. How do we label what we have with each other? Who do you want me to be?_

_Sincerely,_

_Natasha_

_3rd February 2019_

* * *

Steve conveys Natasha’s message to Bucky, and the latter hasn’t stopped laughing since. “I _love_ her already. She really isn’t like any other women you’ve talked to before, Steve. What a gem.”

Steve doesn’t reply to that, only smiling in return. Natasha’s wit and sarcasm didn’t go unnoticed, of course, and Bucky is right about that. He reads the last paragraph again, trying to think of a reply. He eventually settles for the simplest response.

_Dear Natasha,_

_How about a friend?_

_Sincerely,_

_Steve_

_12th February 2017_

_P/S: Bucky adores you._

* * *

_** (end of part i) ** _


	2. all that i had to walk through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of Liho, ballet, past baggages and a map-date in Central Park.

_Dear Steve,_

_I tried finding for you on social media, and the results came out questionable. I can’t seem to find any Steve Rogers living in New York. Do you even have Facebook or Instagram? Are you even human, or am I talking to a (gasp) ghost from the (literal) past?_

_Sincerely,_

_Natasha_

_3rd March 2019_

_—_

_Dear Natasha,_

_Oh, so now you’re_ stalking _me. I might just be a ghost for all you know. Are you sure you still want to talk to me?_

_I actually don’t have any social media accounts, I’m really old school like that. But because I’m nice, I took the liberty to feed your curiosity and include a photograph taken last Christmas in this letter. I’m the blond guy. The one with shoulder length hair is Bucky, and that’s his sister, Rebecca beside him. And oh, the toddler you see in his arms? That’s the culprit of the art on our living room wall. Cheeky little Georgie._

_Sincerely,_

_Steve_

_12th March 2017_

* * *

Natasha couldn’t help but smile when she sees the photograph Steve had sent her. The first thing that pops into his mind is that he looks nothing like how she had imagined him to be; Steve Rogers turned out to be a lot more _handsome_ than she’d expected, with his sandy blond hair, his earnest looking eyes and megawatt smile. Plus, he’s _really_ buff. She blushes at the thought that flits into her mind, shaking her head disapprovingly at herself.

 _But it’s just a harmless thought_ , Natasha tells herself. It’s not like she’s going to like him better as a friend just because of his ultra good looks, that would be extremely superficial and not at all like her. Heck, if Maria learns about this, she probably wouldn’t let Natasha live this down. 

She decides to keep the picture in her journal, safely tucked at the back behind a few other memorabilia she had kept from some time ago. Natasha figures she doesn’t _have_ to tell or show Maria everything about Steve. It’ll be nice to have something that only she is privy to, at least, for now.

* * *

_Dear Steve,_

_Wow, you really are a fossil, who doesn’t have social media accounts these days? And what? You’re telling me that cheeky and adorable little thing is the culprit? Great, how can I ever be mad looking at (or thinking about) that art on the wall now?_

_Sincerely,_

_Natasha_

_17th March 2019_

_—_

_Dear Natasha,_

_George is pretty adorable, but wait until you hear him crying and screaming. You’ll probably take back your words after that, trust me. (I’m joking, I love George to pieces)._

_So...am I ever going to know how Natasha Romanoff looks like, or do I have to guess? I’m pretty good at this game._

_Sincerely,_

_Steve_

_26th March 2017_

_—_

_Dear Steve,_

_Funny you should ask, because I was already planning to show you a recent photograph of me taken by Maria. And oh, that’s my cat, Liho. I wouldn’t say I’m a cat person but she stuck around the lakehouse so much that it would be a crime to chase her out. The house is big enough for two, anyway. Do you have any pets?_

_Sincerely,_

_Natasha_

_7th April 2019_

* * *

The first word that flickers into Steve’s mind upon seeing the photograph is this; _beautiful._

There is simply no other words to describe Natasha Romanoff from the photograph alone, and after 3 months of speaking to her, Steve finally has an image to attach her name to, a face just as beautiful as he would imagine. Her slightly curled red hair just barely touching her shoulders—Steve is somehow blushing like a school boy seeing his crush for the first time. He mentally chides himself for that random thought and shakes himself from his reverie.

“Hey, since when did you decide to adopt a cat?”

Steve looks up to see Bucky cradling a black cat in his arms. His best friend is scratching between the cat’s ears, and the creature purrs in obvious contentment. Steve raises an eyebrow. “This is actually my _first_ time seeing that cat.”

“Really? It’s been lingering outside your front door for hours. I noticed it earlier but ignored it thinking it was a stray, but it never budged.”

“Oh, that’s—“ Steve stops his sentence midair, something pops into his head without warning. He peers back onto the photograph Natasha had sent him, squinting his eyes to take a closer look. Then he looks at the cat in Bucky’s arms. “— _unbelievable_.”

“What is?” Bucky asks just as the cat jumps down from his arms and scrambles into the next room without hesitation. Steve is already beside Bucky when he practically shoves the photograph under his nose. Bucky whistles. “Oh wow, is that Natasha? She’s really pretty!” 

“Look at the cat she’s holding.” Steve ignores his remark, then adds, “Don’t you think it’s the same cat you just brought in?”

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky mutters at once. “Are you sure? How can you even tell?”

“In the letter she explained that Liho—that’s the name she gave—was always at the lakehouse. You just said that it was lingering—nevermind, I need to tell her this, can you _believe_?” Steve asks excitedly, already making his way across the living room and towards his study.

“This is getting freakier and freakier.” Bucky mumbles to himself as he watches Steve’s retreating back.

* * *

_Dear Natasha,_

_You are never going to believe this, but I think we have the same cat. Bucky found it at the house just waiting on the porch as though she owns the place. Since she responses to the name Liho in your time, I’ll just call her that, too. Huh, I wonder if that means I named her, or you did? Funny how I didn’t bring her along with me when I move out from this place eventually. Perhaps future me had a gut feeling to leave her behind so she could pester you instead._

_Tell Liho I said hi, I guess?_

_Sincerely,_ _  
_ _Steve_

_16th April 2017_

* * *

“Oh my god.” 

Natasha puts the letter down, immediately eying the cat perched comfortably on top of the dining table. “Liho, I can’t _believe_ you.”

Liho looks up very briefly before setting her head back down on the table, ignoring Natasha’s disbelief gaze. Hundreds of thoughts are filling her mind all at once, nearly sending her brain to overdrive. The thought of Steve having fed and touched _her_ cat (or was she _his?_ Great, did she just steal somebody else’s cat?!) is really sending her into a state of utter disbelief.

“This is _so_ weird.” is all Natasha could conclude after ten minutes of contemplation. "Hey, Liho, Steve said hi."

Liho only meows in response, uncaring about anything else.

* * *

_Dear Steve,_

_So not only is that mailbox connecting the both of us together, but that darn black cat, too? Back then, I knew she was a force to be reckoned with, what with how insistent she was at breaking into the lakehouse when I was living there. It all makes sense now._

_By the way, I thought of letting you know that I accepted my friend, Pepper’s offer to work in her husband’s company for the time being. Nothing too fancy, just a position to get me by. I can’t be jobless forever now, can I?_

_Sincerely,_

_Natasha_

_21st April 2019_

_—_

_Dear Natasha,_

_I’m so proud of you! I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Remember what I said before, you need to give yourself a chance before judging if you can or cannot do it. (I may be biased but I know on instinct that you can). And even if you make mistakes, it’s okay. That’s how we learn!_

_This is turning out to be a pep talk. Sorry about that._

_I wish you all the best for your new job!_

_Sincerely,_

_Steve_

_30th April 2017_

* * *

Pepper is absolutely delighted to hear that Natasha has accepted her job offer that she’s the first to greet her at the lobby of Stark Industries on Natasha’s first day. They exchange a brief but warm hug, Pepper’s face beaming with clear happiness. Natasha quirks one eyebrow up. “What’s up with you?”

“Oh nothing,” Pepper shakes her head. “Just happy to see you here. We really could use another pair of competent hands.”

Natasha feels the nervous butterflies flying straight into her stomach. “Pepper, I…uh…”

“Don’t think too much, Nat.” Pepper knows what her friend is thinking. “You’ll do well. Even Tony agrees with me.”

“What if I make a mistake?” Natasha asks, her voice small and measured, quite unlike her usual boisterous and confident self. Pepper is still smiling. “If you do, then you learn from it. No one expects you to be perfect, Nat.”

Natasha remembers both Maria and Steve’s words, sees how encouraging Pepper is that morning—she feels herself regaining some sort of confidence, so she stands taller and gives her employer a firm nod. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s my girl.” Pepper grins, then leads her to the elevator.

* * *

_Dear Steve,_

_I was always curious about this, but do you know the history of the lakehouse? You did mention before that you were the first to move in, that it was empty for almost a year before that. I’ve asked my agent last time but he told me he didn’t know the full story, only that it was a house built by a famous architect as a gift for the love of his life._

_Sincerely_

_Natasha_

_5th May 2019_

_—_

_Dear Natasha,_

_I suppose it’s time for me to tell you the truth about this lakehouse. Your agent’s story was fairly accurate. Only that I’ll add by telling you that the famous architect he told you about? That was my father, Joseph Rogers. The love of his life? It was my mother._

_The lakehouse was supposed to be a gift to her, but she never got to see it. She passed away from an illness, and I drifted apart from my father because of his obsession to finish project lakehouse. He was never around, not even to visit her. When he finally came around, it was already too late._

_My father passed away last year. The last I know, he was working on writing an autobiography, but I’m not even sure if he ever completed it. I don’t see it in bookstores. I’m a terrible son, aren’t I?_

_Sincerely,_

_Steve_

_14th May 2017_

* * *

Natasha would normally sleep in on Saturdays. She used to sleep in on Sundays, but ever since Steve, she’d switched to Saturday instead. But today, she is up and out early, a clear goal in mind. The night before after work, Natasha had sat down in front of her laptop, wanting to check if Steve’s father ever did publish his autobiography. 

It took just one google search to know that he _did._ She mentally gives herself a pat on her back, beaming with unabashed happiness. After searching further into the search engine, Natasha finds out that his autobiography’s original publication date was at the end of 2017, which would explain why Steve doesn’t know if his father’s idea ever materialised. It hasn’t happened in his time, yet.

Giddy with the prospect of surprising Steve, Natasha decides to make a trip down to the nearest bookstore. Thirty minutes later, she is already holding the book in her hands, her heart somewhat sorrowful as she stares at the photograph of Joseph Rogers at the back cover.

 _So this was Steve’s father,_ she thinks to herself as she pays for the book and exits the bookstore. Natasha is back home by noon, and without wasting any time, she decides to read the book.

By night time, Natasha has learned so many things about Joseph Rogers. The projects he had done, the _lakehouse_ in particular, the motive behind each architectural design, each arch, each window. The glass panels overlooking the lake. The reason why he’d built it in the first place.

There’s a particular chapter in the book that strikes Natasha the most; it is the chapter on Sarah and Steve Rogers, the shortest chapter in his entire autobiography, but the one which carries the most meaning, the most beautiful message from the author. As she reaches the end of the book, Natasha feels a sort of ache in her heart that she cannot explain. One thing she knows for sure, is that Steve deserves to read this book as soon as possible. Not knowing if her idea would actually work, Natasha could only hope for the best before she finally falls asleep.

* * *

_Dear Steve,_

_I got you a gift from the bookstore. Your father’s autobiography was only published in late 2017, I thought that there is no one else who deserves to read it as much as you do, so I bought it and…I hope you receive it in your mailbox. There’s a particular chapter towards the end which I think you’ll enjoy reading._

_Sincerely,_

_Natasha_

_19th May 2019_

* * *

To say Steve is surprised is an understatement, for when he opens his mailbox expecting to see just an envelope in it, Steve sees a hardcover book first. Confused, he takes it out slowly, almost dropping the book when he sees the author’s name in front on the plain cover. 

Steve is quick to tuck the book under his arm before reaching for Natasha’s letter. His hands shake trying to unseal the envelope. When he finally manages to read her letter, Steve’s heart is palpitating. 

Needless to say, Steve spends his entire Sunday reading his father’s autobiography. Each chapter helps him understand his old man more, of the effort and love he’d put into all his designs and projects. He breezes through each chapter easily, until he finally reaches the chapter Natasha told him about.

He stops reading. He puts away the book. 

Steve decides he needs to first clear his mind, so he gets up and jogs around the lakehouse a few times. Then, he makes himself a cup of hot chocolate, settles back into his couch, and takes his father’s autobiography back into his hands. Steve takes a deep breath, his heart steady, and begins to read.

The chapter begins with an introduction of his wife, Sarah Rogers. It is a sweet and almost perfect recollection of how their parents met that Steve couldn’t help but smile. There’s a picture of them from their younger days, and Steve feels a pang in his heart, realising just how much he misses both of his parents. The chapter goes on to describe the lovely things Sarah had done for him, the sacrifices she had made to be with him, how he was constantly reminded of how lucky he was to have her by his side, how much he loved her. There wasn’t anything he could do to repay her back, so he decided to start project lakehouse as a gift to her.

Steve’s heart clenches in pain, but he continues reading.

His father wrote how he had planned everything down to the T, the original plans and blueprints for the house took him more than three months to complete; he wanted it to be perfect for his wife, there was no room for any mistakes or flaws. When the construction of the lakehouse began, that was when Sarah fell sick. 

Steve pauses to catch the breath he doesn’t even realise he is holding. 

Joseph wrote how he was obsessed with the idea of wanting to finish the lakehouse, so he could show it to Sarah before she passed away. He forced himself to do overtime supervision work every day, knowing that time was ticking. He’d paid extra costs for the construction to continue until it was too dark for the workers to see. He’d done all that he could to make sure Sarah got the chance to see the lakehouse, her dream house, before it was too late.

But it was still too late, anyway. By the time Steve’s father realised that, by the time he’d gone to visit her to apologise for not being able to grant her wish, Sarah only had a few hours left. He was by her side when she went.

Steve sees a sudden flashback, the entire scene still vivid in his mind. He sees his father slumped against the chair beside his mother’s bed, crying. He remembers vaguely thinking to himself that his father didn’t deserve to be there, remembers not even looking at his father’s direction. He remembers being angry, remembers yelling at his father for not visiting his mother while he still could. Throughout everything, Joseph remained quiet, not saying anything.

Steve reads the words on the page, feels the agony building in his heart; 

( _I didn’t say anything back because I deserved every bit of scolding and more. Steve was right. What did I do for her when she was lying on the bed, too sick to move? Where was I when I should have held her hand and sing her lullabies so she could fall asleep?)_

By the time he reaches the end of the chapter, Steve is already breaking into tears, silent sobs filling the air. There is an instant regret forming in his heart, the sadness from not spending more time with his father, but the guilt is gently suppressed by the final page of the chapter; a special note addressed to him;

_(My dearest son, Steve._

_You may not forgive me even after you have read this book, and I completely understand. I have never blamed you. No matter what it is that you feel after reading this, you should know that I am always proud of you and that I will always love you._

_You do not owe me anything, son. Not an apology, and definitely not guilt. I know you love me, and I know you might regret not reconnecting with me after your mother’s death. But I don’t want you to feel that way. That is the beauty of being a father, already knowing what is going through his son’s head before he even thinks about it._

_I want you to be happy, son. No matter what you do in life. Always be happy. Love sincerely, and do not make the same mistakes I did. If you find someone you love, if you think she’s the one for you, spend time with her, hold on tight to her and never let her go. If you want to make amends for me, then promise me you will do this for your old pops, but most importantly, promise me you will do it for yourself.)_

Steve ends up awake the whole night thinking about his father’s last words. When he knows that sleep is futile, he pulls himself out of his bed and makes his way to his study. He sits by his desk in the dark, relishing in silence for a few more minutes before switching on his desk lamp. The first thing he sees is Natasha’s latest letter to him. He folds it neatly back into its envelope before opening his drawer, keeping the letter together with the rest of her letters to him. 

Then, he begins to write.

* * *

_Dear Natasha,_

_I can’t thank you enough for the advance copy of my father’s autobiography. It was something I very much needed as a closure, a means for me to finally forgive him. I’ve learned more about him through that one chapter alone. How can I ever repay you for what you’ve done? It’s been five months or so since we first started talking to each other, and you surprise me each week, Nat. The joy in my heart when I receive your letters is unexplainable. You’ve become someone very special to me, and I hope you know that._

_Thank you, Nat. Really._

_Love,_

_Steve_

_28th May 2017_

* * *

When Steve finishes writing that letter, he doesn’t pause to even consider the extent of what his words could possibly imply. All he knows is that he needs to let Natasha know just how much she means to him, for someone whom he’d never met, she had understood him, supported him in ways he couldn’t imagine. He takes the photograph she sent to him, caressing a thumb over her face subconsciously. In the midst of recalling everything that he has written to Natasha, all her replies to him, Steve doesn’t even realise he is falling for her, slowly, but surely.

* * *

_Dear Steve,_

_I’m relieved the book got through to you and you’ve read it. I’m also really glad that you found solace in it and it was the closure you needed. After reading your father’s autobiography, it’s safe to say that I have a newfound appreciation towards the lakehouse. To think I lived there for almost a year without knowing the history behind it. I miss the place, truly._

_You don’t have to repay me, Steve. I did it because I want to. I know how much it would mean to you. What we have with each other…it’s strange (in a good way), and I do consider you to be very special to me too._

_With love,_

_Natasha_

_2nd June 2019_

* * *

It is only in June, six months after Natasha started communicating with Steve when Pepper finally hears about it. Natasha feels guilty in an instant for not keeping Pepper in the loop; the lady CEO of Stark Industries is staring daggers with her eyes, a flash of hurt across her face as she puts down her cutlery. “You are _what_ ?” She asks again, just for confirmation that her ears had not betrayed her, that Natasha really just told her that she’s been communicating with a guy in a never heard before, unconventional method—a mailbox and many letters—because he is living two years in the _past._

Why did Natasha think it was a good idea to tell Pepper this over lunch, she has no idea, but she deals with the aftermath by clasping her hands together to ask for forgiveness. “I should have told you earlier, but I didn’t want too many people to know and Maria already knows so I—”

The second the words came out from Natasha’s mouth, there is another wave of instant regret that washes over her. “So Maria knows?” Pepper’s face is alarmingly impassive, void of the hurt she’d displayed just 15 seconds ago. Natasha could only look at her sheepishly. “Please don’t kill me.”

“I’m _not_ going to kill you.” Pepper replies, then picks up her cutlery again and continues eating. Natasha continues to stare at her for a few more seconds before mirroring her actions. But Natasha is observant and knows that even though Pepper is silent, she is clearly still bothered by what she’d just told her. So she decides to ask, “Pep? Tell me what’s on your mind. I completely understand if you’re mad at me.”

Finally, Pepper sighs, then meets her gaze. “I’m not mad, Nat. I’m just trying to…process everything.”

“Right.” Natasha says, suddenly nervous again. When she’d made the decision to tell Pepper about her current situation, Natasha had expected her to laugh and tell her to stop joking, or maybe she would become so stunned that she wouldn’t have anything to say. Pepper’s reaction was all but those things. In fact, her reaction is way _too_ normal, if Natasha is to be honest with herself. Pepper is actually handling this way better than when Natasha told her she wanted to quit ballet. “Do you believe me though?”

“Yes.” Pepper doesn’t hesitate. “Of course I do. It’s bizarre and others might think you’ve gone mad, but not me, Natasha.”

As uncharacteristic as it is, hearing that almost makes her want to reach across the table and pull Pepper into a bear hug. But Natasha refrains from doing so. “Thanks, Pepper.” She says in gratitude, then quickly adds, “But uh, maybe don’t tell Tony about this for now?”

Pepper smirks, but nods anyway. She knows that if Tony finds out about this, that would be the end of Natasha’s privacy - her story has two elements that Tony would absolutely, without a doubt, love; science, and an entire possibility of endlessly teasing her friend straight to the core of the earth.

“I do have a question though.” Pepper starts again after taking a sip from her glass of juice. “Have you spoken to Steve before?” She quirks an eyebrow worriedly.

“What, you mean like actually hearing his voice?” Natasha clarifies, then shakes her head slowly. “No. We’ve only been writing letters to each other.”

“Okay,” There’s a slight frown on Pepper’s face now, reminding Natasha of a protective mother who just found out her high school daughter is talking to a boy secretly behind her back. “But have you considered talking to him through the phone?”

“Well…now that you’ve mentioned about it…” Natasha scratches her chin at that thought. She is suddenly immersed in that idea, wondering if she should suggest this to Steve some day, maybe when she is ready.

Pepper clears her throat slightly, and Natasha’s attention is back on her in an instant. There’s a look on Pepper’s face that she couldn’t quite place, but Pepper seems to be studying her rather intently. Natasha shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “Nat, are you by any chance, in love with this guy?”

If Natasha had been drinking at that moment, she’d probably have choked and sputtered out her juice ungracefully. Thankfully for her, she isn’t, so the only reaction that comes out from her is a quick shake of her head, an awkward laughter that fills the otherwise quiet ambience of the restaurant. “No! I’m not. What makes you say that? We’ve only known each other for just six months.”

“Because,” Pepper begins calmly, unfazed by what Natasha had just told her. “I’ve noticed something different about you since two months ago.” Pepper states as a matter of fact, causing Natasha to furrowed her eyebrows together. “You’re significantly happier than when you told me you were quitting ballet. You’ve been smiling more often, laughing more often. The list could go on, Nat. The bottomline is, I’ve had my suspicions. I just didn’t know it would be this…” Pepper rakes her head for a word to describe Natasha’s new relationship. “…complicated.”

“I’m—” Natasha tries to interject, to explain herself, mostly to deny, completely unaware that her heart is pounding crazily fast, but Pepper’s phone rings just then, effectively cutting their conversation short. Her friend answers it after looking at the caller ID. Natasha doesn’t want to eavesdrop, so she diverts her attention on her food and continues eating, but a few words— _Morgan, ballet, the academy—_ catch her attention anyway. 

When Pepper puts away her phone, she is well aware that Natasha has heard her, if her expression is any indication. Natasha asks as casually as she could, as if it isn’t anything important, “You’re sending Morgan to a ballet academy?”

“She wants to.” Nodding, Pepper gives her friend a smile. “Ever since she saw her Auntie Nat dancing on stage two years ago.”

Natasha feels the warm glow appearing on her cheeks. She responses with a smile, too, though it is one that is more bitter than it is sweet. “You really need to pick the right ballet academy to send her to.” _Not the ones that would train her to the core, not the ones who only expect perfection_.

Pepper looks at her knowingly, then gives her a nod of understanding. Pepper doesn’t know the extent of what the Red Room Academy did to her, but she knows enough. “That was why I’ve been asking around. Nat?”

“Hmm?” She breaks herself from the minor flashback she just saw in her head. The conversation they’ve had before Pepper received the call now long forgotten.

“What if…you teach Morgan instead?” 

The moment Pepper suggests that, Natasha’s eyes widen in pure surprise. “What?” She asks in complete shock. 

“You’re one of the best ballerinas in New York.” Pepper says, even when Natasha is already shaking her head. “Everyone in the industry knows who you are. Morgan was the one who suggested me to ask you to teach her. I can even arrange for you to use the dance studio in the Stark Tower.”

“Pepper,” Natasha’s mind has gone blank, unable to comprehend what she’d just heard from her best friend. “I haven’t picked up my ballet shoes since my last performance. That was six months ago. _Six.”_

“Two decades of learning cannot be erased in just six months of being idle, Nat.” 

“You don’t understand, Pep, it won’t…I can’t…”

Pepper instinctively reaches her hands out to grasp Natasha’s. Her voice soft and comforting, “ _Relax._ I understand. You can say no.” 

Natasha feels bad in an instant, but she thanks Pepper for understanding, anyway. Since when has she become so fearful of dancing, when once upon a time, that was all she did, all she could do? The scars from all her trainings run deeper than she’d expected, and it is only now that she realises just how _deep_ they are within her. 

Pepper doesn’t bring up Morgan for the rest of the day, and ballet, for the rest of the week.

* * *

Steve thinks that with all that has happened to him recently, he would no longer be surprised with anything that is thrown into his direction. After all, if he has experienced speaking to someone from the future, there is simply nothing that could throw him off guard now.

Until a blonde woman shows up in front of his house unannounced—Sharon Carter, Peggy’s cousin whom Steve had met a few times two years back. He is staring at her in pure surprise, mouth agape slightly. “Sharon?”

“Steve.” She greets him politely with a smile. “How are you?”

“Umm, good.” Steve replies awkwardly, rubbing a hand behind his neck. He recomposes himself quickly, albeit having a few questions squirming in his mind. He steps aside to invite her into his home. “Do you want to come in?”

“That would be great. I have something important to tell you, actually.” Sharon states, and the second Steve brings a cup of tea for her to drink, Sharon begins to talk. 

“I’m here to offer you a job on behalf of the Carter Gallery.” She goes straight to the point, and Steve almost burns his tongue drinking his tea. The Carter Gallery is a semi prestigious art museum owned by Peggy’s father, and just recently, Steve has heard of the news that Peggy has taken over as the director, managing all three branches from the London head office. 

“Peggy was the person who suggested your name, actually. She would have wanted to tell you this in person, but because she’s in Paris at the moment…” Sharon lets her sentence trail off, an apologetic look on her face that Steve doesn’t miss.

“Okay.” Steve hears the steady drumming of his heart beneath his chest, feels his calm composure—they're enough to tell him that he is no longer affected hearing his ex-girlfriend’s name. He’s at ease, so he continues, “But why?”

Sharon smiles. “Peggy thinks your art should be shown to the rest of the world.”

Hearing that makes Steve smile, too, though slightly embarrassed. “I’m extremely flattered that Peggy thinks my art is good enough for the Carter Gallery.”

“They are.” Sharon assures him confidently, taking out a file from her bag. “The job description, terms and conditions, are all here. You can take a look.”

Steve accepts the file gratuitously and begins to read, his eyebrows shot up by the time he reaches the third sentence. “The job’s in London.” The tone of his voice suggests that he is unsure whether it is a statement or a question, but Sharon nods anyway. “It is. The idea is for you to first assist in the London branch, and if it gets enough response, we’ll continue the distribution and other matters in Paris, then New York.”

His throat feels dry in an instant. The rest of the words no longer registering in his head. “But I’ll have to be away for an indefinite period.”

Sharon nods again. “Correct. We’re unsure of how long this entire process will take, depending on public feedback and opinions, but we estimate at least nine months. It’s a great opportunity, Steve.”

“Wow,” Steve exhales slowly. “This is a lot to take in.”

“I understand.” Sharon nods in understanding. She patiently continues, “Peggy wants you to take all the time you need to think about this. The latest we should hear from you is the end of November this year.”

Steve nods, realising he still has a few months left before he has to give Sharon an answer. In a passing moment, it strikes him then; could this be the reason why he moved out from the lakehouse? His heart began to thump in irregular rhythms. Would he really leave everything behind, leave the friendship he has forged with Natasha for this job opportunity?

Sharon is already standing, her body angled towards the front door. “I should probably go. And Steve, just to clarify, Sam was the one who told me you were staying here at this moment.”

“Oh,” That answers how Sharon knows where to find him that morning. “You could have just called me, though.”

“I thought it would be better telling this to you face to face. Especially since, well, everything that has happened.”

Steve feels a lump latching onto his throat, the implication behind Sharon’s words is clear. She is talking about when he had to break up with Peggy, mostly because they’d believed that a long distance relationship wasn’t going to work—now that Steve is reminded of this reason, he remembers Natasha instantly, knows that the irony is not lost. He’d loved Peggy tremendously, but also knew that London was the place she’d rather be, so he’d let her go. Somehow, in that year after Peggy has left, Steve had unintentionally pined after her, naively thinking that if he waited, maybe one day they could be together again. It wasn’t going to happen, obviously. 

But that’s a past that no longer matters to him anymore. Not when he closes his eyes and his mind flickers instantly to Natasha, not when he longs and yearns for her even though he has never met her.

“Peggy…if you don’t mind me asking, how is she?”

“She’s doing great, Steve.” Sharon’s voice grows soft. “I…it’s really not my place to say anything, really, but she’s happy there, and she’s found someone, too.”

His heart doesn’t clench hearing that, it remains steady beneath his chest. Steve finds it easy to give Sharon a genuine smile as a response. “I’m glad to hear that, really.”

Sharon hesitates, but asks a few seconds after, “What about you?” 

Since Sharon stepped into his house, Steve has willed himself to be ready to answer a question like this, however awkward or uncomfortable it might get. When those words came out from Sharon’s mouth, he sees Liho from the corner of his eye, prancing about in the house without much care, remembers what the feline represents in this stage of his life, remembers the past few months that had made him look forward to each day, just to read the letter from his distant pen-pal.

Steve finds the words at the tip of his tongue. “I’m happy, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Sharon smiles in relief. “That’s good, Steve. I’m really glad.”

Steve nods, still smiling as a certain redhead appears in his mind. “Me too.”

* * *

_Dear Steve,_

_Have you ever found yourself hating something you once loved? For me, it’s ballet._

_When I was younger, it was all I could talk about. I remembered telling my papa and mama that I wanted to learn ballet, because ballerinas were so graceful and beautiful on stage. When I was younger, I wanted to be like them. My parents sent me to the Red Room Academy after that, a ballet school owned by a Russian, no-nonsense headmistress. She took notice of me immediately. The kids in my class used to say that it was because I’m Russian too, but they were wrong. There was another Russian girl in my class, Yelena, but Madame B never quite paid her any attention as much as she did me. She told my parents that I had potential, and that she was going to shape me into becoming the next Bolshoi star. Her reputation preceded her. She was vicious in her trainings. But I bit back my tongue and held on, because I wanted to make my parents proud, I wanted to still be like the ballerinas on stage dancing to the Swan Lake, or the Nutcracker, or Sleeping Beauty._

_You already know my parents died in a car crash. I stayed temporarily with my father’s best friend. He asked me if I wanted to continue doing ballet, because Madame B was asking for me to return to the Red Room. She had asked his permission to take me under her wings, wanting to continue teaching me without any charge. My father’s best friend wasn’t going to let me go if that wasn’t what I wanted, and at that time, I knew ballet was still something I enjoyed doing, something to take things off my troubled mind, so I told him yes, that I still wanted to do it._

_Madame B didn’t formally adopt me, but it might as well be that, since I was living under her roof for the next decade. Suddenly, ballet wasn’t something I enjoyed doing anymore. It wasn’t a hobby, or an interest, something to pass my time with. It became a daily routine, something I had to do, a need and not a want._

_From ninth grade onwards, my training became more intense. They lasted after school till 11 at night every day, sometimes even more. Knees met with the floor multiple times, I was never allowed to rest. For every mistake I did in a routine, my practice time was extended by half an hour. In school, I had Maria. But once the clock struck 2 in the afternoon, and I had to go back to the Red Room, I had no one._

_I used to dance for my parents, because the smiles on their faces when I did even a small routine were unforgettable. But they were gone, and suddenly, there was no purpose for me to dance anymore. It hurts, to be honest. This was something I once loved with all my heart. It hurts to think that I’m giving up on this forever._

_Love,_

_Natasha,_

_16th June 2019_

* * *

When Steve reads the letter, he feels both hurt and anger building up within him. Hurt, because he knows that Natasha is suffering—why else would she sent him a letter recounting a past memory that’s longer than all her other letters so far? Hurt, because she is hurting, too. Anger, because how could an adult do this to a child, how messed up must this headmistress be to have treated Natasha like that, to have subjected her to so much mental suffering and pain? Anger, because there’s nothing he could do to help her, that he couldn’t just run over to where she is at this moment and offer her a hug.

“I wish I could be there for you.” Steve mutters to himself. “I really wish I could.” 

So he writes to tell her that—it is the only thing he can do.

* * *

_Dear Nat,_

_I understand what you are going through, because like you, there was a period of time in my life where I stopped painting for more than a year—it was when my mother became ill._

_Seeing colour schemes and palettes, studying their different tones were all I ever did before. Painting, sketching, drawing, basically anything art related, made me really happy. But then, I just woke up one day and suddenly I was repulsed by the sight of all my paints scattered all over my desk. I saw only black and grey in all my paintings. I hated how everything I tried to draw turned out ugly. Gradually, I didn’t even want to pick up my brush anymore._

_But somehow, eventually, I found a purpose to paint again. After my mother passed, I wanted to keep her in my memories, so I decided to draw as many paintings as I could of her. I didn’t want to forget how she looked like. That was how I started painting again._

_Nat, it hurts me to know that you are hurting. If there’s anything I could wish for at this moment, I’d wish for the chance to be right there by your side, to let you know that you are not alone. You’re never alone. Maybe, if and when you find a new purpose one day in the future like me, you could try dancing again._

_Love,_

_Steve_

_25th June 2017_

* * *

When Steve breaks the news of his job opportunity to both his best friends and what it would mean if he is to accept it, Sam is the first to congratulate him. Bucky remains quiet, his eyebrows furrowed together for a few seconds before he eases his expression and gives Steve a pat on the back. 

Sam then asks the most important question, one that Steve honestly still has no answer to. “So are you going to accept the offer?”

“I have until the end of November to decide, so for now, I honestly don’t know.” Steve could only shrug. “My mind is telling me that this might be it. This might be the chance for a career breakthrough. My heart on the other hand…”

“It’s telling you to stay.” Bucky finishes his sentence for him, a careful smile gracing his face. “You’re not ready to leave everything behind, aren’t you?”

“Not everything. Just you guys.” Steve is shaking his head. “ _Her._ ”

He doesn’t need to explain who, they just know. They’ve expected it, seen it coming from miles away. Even when Steve had been in denial, adamant that he only treats Natasha as a friend, Bucky and Sam had already thought otherwise. They’ve seen Steve’s demeanour lately, seen how his face had lit up with just the mere mention of her name, seen the clear connection that is privy to only the both of them. Steve hasn’t admitted it out loud yet, but when both of his friends look at him and see the conflict on his face, he doesn’t have to.

* * *

_Dear Natasha,_

_This sounds like a crazy idea, but do you want to take a morning walk in Central Park next Saturday with me? It will be a little unconventional, since I’m technically not there beside you, but nothing has been conventional about us from the start anyway, so I figured, why not?_

_Here’s how this will work. I’ve included a map of Central Park in the envelope and you will see that certain spots are marked. Every time you reach each marked spot, you’ll have to read the extra notes I’ve written and labelled by locations. There is also a specific highlighted route which I’ve planned that is also recommended by Bucky. So if you follow that route, and drop by the places I’ve especially marked for you…it could still be—at least figuratively—that we’ve taken a walk together._

_Scratch that. Perhaps I should rephrase my question; do you want to go on a map-date in Central Park with me next Saturday at 9AM?_

_Love,_

_Steve_

_9th July 2017_

* * *

At this point, as she gets ready to leave her apartment, Natasha is convinced that she’s gone mad. She didn’t tell Maria or Pepper what she’s about to do, knowing they would probably give her a pointed, maybe even judgemental look. She realises that she probably wouldn’t even blame them if they do. Her eyes flicker towards the map and a small bundle of notes lying on her table - Steve’s suggestion which came out of nowhere. 

Natasha is too defiant to admit it, but deep down, she finds herself looking forward to this “map-date”. After all, she hadn’t explored Central Park in years. She tries not to linger too much at the thought that she would still be alone regardless of what Steve said. Seeing the length he’d gone through to prepare this for her, how could she possibly _not_ go?

She gathers the map and notes, heart already fluttering even before she leaves her house. When Natasha reaches Central Park, it is then that she begins to really study the map Steve has given her. She recognises some landmarks which he’d marked, and begins following the route he had highlighted, entering from the South East side. She skips the zoo, because Steve didn't mark it as one of the spots she is supposed to stop at, and Natasha finds herself chuckling. 

She makes it to the Literary Walk and pauses at the entrance, enjoying the summer breeze and marvelling at the lush green trees. The rustle of the wind is a pleasant sound to hear, even if it sends locks of her hair dancing all around her neck. Natasha remembers that Steve has left a note for this spot, so she reaches into her handbag and takes out the bundle of notes. She finds the small piece of paper labelled the Literary Walk, and begins to read;

_There’s just something about taking a walk down this lane during summer that gets to me. It feels so much like an escape from the busy city life. The music in the air is beautiful, isn’t it?_

Natasha smiles, glancing up to see the street performers playing their music. “It is.” She answers softly, before continuing to walk down the path. 

_You struck me as someone who would appreciate poetry. There are statues of famous poets here, who are your favorites? Don’t say Shakespeare._

“Shakespeare.” Natasha says it anyway, this time with a laugh. “Always Shakespeare. What about you, Steve?”

_I like Sir Walter Scott; “my hope, my heaven, my trust must be, My gentle guide, in following thee.”. Have you heard of this poem before?_

“The Lady of the Lake.” Natasha hears herself saying with a slight shake of her head. “How very fitting.” 

Steve’s note ends there, so Natasha journeys along the remaining path, her eyes observing the crowd. She sees families and couples, and somehow, it causes her stomach to twist slightly. But Natasha ignores the feeling, and glances at Steve’s map.

She treks up the slight hill and reaches Bethesda Fountain and Terrace. Natasha feels her breath leaving her as she takes in the beautiful sight in front of her, admiring the view of the fountain standing gloriously and proudly in the middle. 

_My father used to take me down here often when I was a kid. He would tell me that this place is the architectural highlight of Central Park. Did you know that the construction of the Bethesda Terrace began as early as 1861?_

“No,” Natasha answers lightly, “but now I do.”

_This place was only completed in 1873! No wonder my father was obsessed with this place. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Oh, by the way, there’s a sketch of the fountain drawn in this bundle of notes by yours truly. It’s yours to keep, who knows, it might be worth something in 2019._

Natasha finds the sketch easily, and her breath catches on her throat. She may not be an artist, but she could tell at once that Steve’s sketch is absolutely beautiful. She lifts the sketch up against the background, moving, shifting in her position until she finds the exact spot where Steve had sketched from. Natasha sits down and imagines Steve sketching the fountain and the Angel of the Water. She takes a deep and long breath, eyes closed, heart drumming beneath her chest.

She smiles. She may be alone, but Natasha doesn't feel lonely.

* * *

_Dear Steve,_

_I enjoyed our map-date very much. The tour was something I didn’t know I needed. And this would sound even crazier than your suggestion, but the notes you left for me made me feel like you were there with me all along the way._

_You’re talented, Steve. I loved the sketch you gave me. I am never giving it away, not even if it is worth thousands._

_With love,_

_Natasha_

_14th July 2019_

_P/S: Shakespeare is my favourite poet. I’m not even sorry._

* * *

Natasha doesn’t think that it would affect her until she is staring at Morgan from the back of the class.

Before she’d left work, Pepper had texted her for a favour; to pick Morgan up from the ballet academy. Both Tony and her were still stuck in the Board of Directors meeting, and Happy was on leave that day. Natasha had responded immediately, always happy to spend time with her favourite little girl, not at all registering that she would be heading to a ballet academy.

When Natasha sees Morgan in the pink tutu, something stirs inside her, but not enough for her to know what. It is only after ten minutes of watching Morgan that she begins to realise why she is feeling that way. She sees Morgan struggling with certain positions and moves; her feet and arms angled not quite the right way. But the dance instructor doesn’t correct her, doesn’t even see her among the rest of the kids in class. Natasha has almost half the mind to step forward and show her how it is properly done. 

_Wait, what?_ The thought strikes Natasha so fast that it stuns her for a few seconds. Before she could really comprehend what just went through her head, the instructor ends the class with claps and a huge, lovely smile, praising all the children for their efforts that day. Natasha finds a lump on her throat, though she swallows it down to put a grin for Morgan, who’d spotted her. 

“Auntie Nat!” Morgan makes a mad dash towards her, and Natasha bends to scoop her into her arms. “Where’s mommy?”

“Your mommy is still in a meeting with your daddy. Are you not glad to see me?” Natasha says and tickles Morgan in the stomach. The little girl squeals loudly, erupting into fits of giggles before throwing her arms around Natasha’s neck. “Course I am! I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, _malyutka_.” Natasha plants a quick kiss on Morgan’s cheek. “Are you enjoying ballet?”

That question sends Morgan straight into excitement as she bobs her head up and down furiously. “I love it, I love it, I love it!”

Natasha feels a slight pang in her heart, though her smile remains. Their conversation is interrupted when Natasha realises a presence lingering near them. When she turns sideways, she sees Morgan’s ballet instructor beaming towards her. “You’re Natasha Romanoff, right?”

Natasha nods, forcing a smile onto her face. She could tell almost at once that the instructor _knows_ her. She shifts her feet uncomfortably when the instructor takes a few careful steps towards her. “I’m a huge fan of yours.” She begins, stopping at a small distance before Natasha. “Your performance as the Sugar Plum Fairy last Christmas was so beautiful.”

“Thank you.” is all that Natasha replies, not knowing what else to say. But it doesn’t matter, since the instructor is already asking her a question, “I was just wondering if you would be in this year’s Christmas production for the Swan Lake? I haven’t been seeing you on the news--”

“No,” Natasha knows it is rude to interrupt, but she does it anyway. “I’m not. Haven’t you heard?”

The instructor looks confused, but she manages to continue, “Heard what?”

“I’ve quit the Red Room Academy.” Natasha states simply, her demeanour composed. She could see the immediate look of surprise crossing the instructor’s face, her jaw dropping in shock. Natasha doesn’t blame her, she’d half expected that no one within the ballet circle would know that she has quit--Madame B probably didn’t allow anyone in the Red Room to spread that news around, for fear of embarrassment, Natasha is sure of. 

The instructor senses the tension in the air and quickly nods. “Have a nice evening.” She doesn’t pry any further, doesn’t question her decision - Natasha is thankful for that. Instead, she looks at Morgan to give her a quick high-five before retreating away from the both of them. She watches the instructor’s retreating back, feels the sinking feeling of her heart as she looks around the empty studio, at the barres against the walls. Natasha sees her own reflection on the mirrors, and suddenly, her legs ache to dance again. Ache to move to the rhythm of the music, ache to just lose herself in the routine.

“Auntie Nat!” Morgan breaks Natasha’s thoughts. “I’m hungry, can we have burgers and fries for dinner?”

“Sure, _malyutka_.” Natasha agrees absentmindedly, then quickly makes her way out. “Anything for you.”

* * *

_Dear Steve,_

_Maybe I haven’t been completely honest with myself._

_I feel like there’s a part of me that’s still missing, even though I’ve come to terms a long time ago to quit ballet. I don’t regret quitting the Red Room, though. It’s so frustrating, because I was sure I didn’t enjoy doing it anymore, that I’d forget about it and move on. I thought I couldn’t stand it any longer._

_But last Friday, while I was watching Morgan in her ballet class, I knew at once what she was doing wrong. I could predict all the steps that were taught to her just by looking at the instructor for one second. I almost wanted to just march right up to her and start showing her the steps. I realised then that it’s ingrained in me, it’s part of my identity._

_I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?_

_With love,_

_Natasha_

_11th August 2019_

_—_

_Dear Nat,_

_You’re not being ridiculous. From what you’ve told me before, quitting the Red Room Academy was something you should have done a long time ago. You needed that escape, Nat. They were pushing you into a corner you never asked for. You did the right thing._

_Do you trust me? If you do, then please allow me to say this; I don’t think dancing is what you’ve hated, but the memories from the Red Room. You were in a situation where you couldn’t breathe, and quitting was the only way to get out of it. But Nat, now that you’re not associated to the Red Room anymore, would you consider dancing, again?_

_Love,_

_Steve_

_20th August 2017_

* * *

Natasha’s first instinct after reading Steve’s letter is to whisper; _I do trust you._

She takes in his words carefully, considering them in her mind slowly. Maria is looking at her silently from the couch; there’s a look on Natasha’s face that is quite telling of what she is feeling at the moment, but Maria keeps mum, not wanting to interrupt her. When Natasha finally looks up from the letter, she meets her best friend’s eyes. “What?” She asks as a reflex to the look Maria is giving her. 

“I’m just...thinking.” Maria replies, waving a hand in the air as nonchalantly as she could.

“Of?” Natasha asks, even though she already knows the answer. Thinking about it and actually hearing about it are two different things, though. So when Maria says _you and Steve,_ Natasha doesn’t know how to react.

“It’s been 8 months.” Maria puts in plainly. “Don’t you think it’s time to...I don’t know, meet him in person?”

This thought had struck Natasha a few times recently, ever since Pepper planted the idea of hearing his voice in her head, but every time it enters her mind, she pushes the thought out immediately. But Natasha knows that Maria is earnest in her question, so she doesn’t completely rejects the idea there and then on the spot. Instead, she asks, “What if it doesn’t work? What if we somehow...can’t and don’t meet?”

“And what if it _does_?” Maria counters easily, shutting Natasha off effectively. “He’s got to be somewhere out there, it’s 2019. And if you’ve allowed Tony to help you out with this, we would have been able to track him down by now.”

“It doesn’t feel right doing that, somehow.” Natasha says with a shrug. “It’s like...defying the law of the universe or something.”

Maria shakes her head. “You’re not making sense but okay.”

Natasha sighs. “Maria…”

“What about asking him to call you? Or you, him?” Maria suggests. “Baby steps, at least. You don’t even know how his voice sounds like.”

 _It’s like Pepper and Maria both share one brain_ , Natasha mentally says. There’s a long pause as Liho appears out of nowhere and jumps into Natasha’s lap without a warning - a good excuse for Natasha to not reply Maria instantly as she pretends to be busy playing with Liho instead. 

Maria continues to wait, not letting this topic slip through. Natasha feels her stare burning against her head. The detective clearly isn’t going to give in so easily, and Natasha knows. 

So eventually she replies. “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

**end of part ii**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _malyutka_ = little one
> 
> Also I'm not from the US so that Central Park bit was really based on research, I hope it was written accurately though and I hope you like this chapter!
> 
> P/S: it will probably take me a longer time to update the next chapter as I'm busy this upcoming days, but if you want to ask me anything, you can either comment, tweet me at @bboaing, or just ask in my tumblr @mingying ! thank you all so far for the kudos/comments, I really appreciate them all!
> 
> P/P/S: it's kinda gonna get sad from this chapter onwards so umm i thought i should give you guys a heads up first :') /kkthxbai


	3. wish i had the chance to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of heartbreaks and realisation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a clown for thinking this is a 20k AU when it's nearing 30k and i still have 2 chapters to go (it was supposed to end by 4 chapters but nah i'm making it into 5). I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Song inspired for this chapter; _All I Do_ by Yuna.

_Dear Steve,_

_I appreciate that, really. Thank you for listening to me. When the time comes, I’ll consider dancing again. This may sound odd but talking to you about this topic seems so much easier than with Maria or Pepper._

_Steve, do you_

Natasha hesitates. She taps her pen against the table rapidly, wondering if it is right to suggest what is going through her mind. She hears Maria’s voice popping into her head instantly; it is an immediate effect that pushes her hesitancy aside. She continues writing.

_want to try talking on the phone with me? I’m not sure if it will work, since I don’t know you yet in 2017. But if you do, here’s my number…_

When Natasha is done writing that letter, she seals it quickly before she could even second doubt her decision. Her heart is racing for no apparent reason, and Natasha presses the envelope in between the pages of her journal—she still has a few more days to go before Sunday, but all she could think of at this moment is to rush down there and just drop the letter off in his mailbox before she changes her mind. 

* * *

Steve stares at the letter for a good minute before letting the words sink in. He doesn’t know why he is sweating at the thought of hearing Natasha’s voice. What would he even tell her if he does call her? Would she even pick up? Would she even speak to him? 

“Just do it.” Sam offers his two cents on this matter, having read the letter after lunch. “This is your chance to _actually_ speak to her.”

“But what do I tell her?” Steve asks, still somewhat unsure. Not because he doesn’t want to do it, but more of not knowing what to say if she does pick up. Eventually, he musters enough courage to dial the number, and Sam reaches forward to press the call button for him. 

Steve could feel the sweat forming on his palms. He’s nervously waiting for the dialling tune, and when it comes, he nearly jumps in his seat. _Oh god,_ he thinks to himself, _oh god, oh god, oh god—_

Natasha picks up after two rings. “Hello?”

Her voice is soft and low, instantly melodious to his ears. Steve freezes, his mouth suddenly too dry to even utter a word. Sam sees how his eyes are widening, how he is giving him a look of panic.

“Hello, who’s there?” It’s Natasha again, this time, Steve could sense that she is frowning. Sam gestures his hands repeatedly, an encouragement for him to say something, to just casually talk to her.

“Umm…” Steve begins, clearing his throat. His heart is really about to fly out of his chest. “Hi, is this Natasha Romanoff?”

“This is her. Who’s this?” She replies without missing a beat. Steve tries to rake his brain for something to reply, but his mind is suddenly blank. At this point, Sam has already covered one palm over his eyes, shaking his head slightly. 

“I’m so sorry, could you hold the line for one moment, please?” The words stumble out of Steve’s mouth before he could stop himself. He hears Sam groaning beside him as Steve pulls his handphone away from his ears. 

“Steve, what the hell are you doing?” Sam hisses softly, completely aghast. “Just talk to her!”

“That’s the problem, I don’t know _how._ ” Steve hisses back, more words spilling out from his mouth. “I can’t possibly go ‘hi, I’m a friend of yours who you’ll start talking to next year, the future you told me to call you in my time to see if anything would change between us in 2019’. She’ll think I’m completely _mad!_ ”

“You know what else will make her think you’re mad? Not saying anything into the phone!” Sam exasperatedly gestures at his handphone. “Steve, say something before she hangs up on you. It’s your one and only chance!”

Sam’s words sink in. Steve takes a deep breath and attempts to start again. “Hi, I apologise. My name is Ste—"

“Are you from the bank?” Natasha interrupts Steve, her voice laced with impatience. “I’ve told your officer yesterday that I’m not interested in getting another credit card.”

“What? No! I’m…I’m not from the bank.” Steve replies a little too quickly, a little too agitated. Sam is looking at him intently, trying to hear Natasha’s voice from the other line. “This is going to sound really weird, but I’m…I’m a friend of yours.” He almost wants to say _which you haven’t officially met yet,_ but stops himself right before the words slip out from the tip of his tongue.

“Who?” is all Natasha asks in return, and Steve hears the unconvinced tone in her voice. He gulps nervously, _now what?_

“S-Steve Rogers.” He stutters, much to his disbelief and horror, already knowing what she’ll say next. He hears her expelling a sigh after a few seconds of silence. 

“Is this a scam?” She asks after that, and Steve almost wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole from this embarrassment. “I don’t know anyone by that name. Try harder next time, boy.”

And before Steve could say anything else, Natasha hangs up. 

There’s silence in the air for three seconds, then Sam says, “That went well.”

* * *

_Dear Nat,_

_I’ll be completely honest with you and tell you that I messed up, big time. I did call you two days after I got your letter, but we barely spoke two sentences before you concluded that it was a scam and hung up._

_I was terrible. I didn’t know what to say to you, honestly. Sam told me to just think of something, anything to tell you, but all I could think of was how 2017 you wouldn’t have known me yet, and I was afraid you would think I was crazy._

_Perhaps you should try calling me instead. From the way you sounded in our very short conversation, I think you would do a better job at convincing the future me that you aren’t trying to scam money out of my pocket. I would remember you, for sure, wouldn’t I?_

_Love,_

_Steve_

_3rd September 2017_

* * *

Natasha doesn’t quite know what to make of the letter; she was smiling when she first read it, but as the seconds passed, she found herself staring at the numbers Steve has written down at the end of the letter. A thought strikes her. She stops smiling.

“Why do you look so upset?” Maria’s voice fills the quiet apartment, being almost a permanent resident with Liho sleeping soundly on her lap. Natasha looks up to meet her gaze briefly, a slight smile on her lips. 

“What if we’re not meant to ever communicate or meet outside of letters?” She asks softly, her voice careful and calculated. Maria keeps mum, her features softening at the passing second. Natasha continues, “I followed your advice and told him to call me. Or at least, the 2017 me, and—“ She waves the letter in the air gently. “—I thought he was a scammer, Maria. I _hung_ up on him. And now, I don’t even remember that he called me in 2017.”

“Nat, that was a perfectly normal response to a call from someone you don’t know.” Maria reasons carefully, to which Natasha shakes her head. “But I _do_ know him.”

“Not at that time you didn’t.” Maria reaches forward for the letter without waking Liho up. She hates seeing her best friend like this, as though all hope is gone. “I’m really sorry for suggesting this in the first place.”

Natasha shakes her head. “Don’t be.”

Maria reads the letter. “He asked you to call him instead. Why don’t you try doing that? If you call him now, it’ll be 2019 for him too. He’d definitely know who you are.”

Natasha doesn’t respond, her eyes trained on nowhere in particular. Maria sighs, reaching into her handbag for her phone. “If you don’t want to do it, then I’ll do it.” Natasha raises her head, her eyes widening in slight alarm, but she doesn’t stop her friend from dialling the numbers on the letter. She watches how Maria places the phone against her ear, watches how she purses her lips, her eyebrows furrowed together. Maria removes the phone from her ear and dials again. There’s only silence in the air. Natasha meets Maria’s eyes; her heart begins to sink.

“The number…” Maria’s voice is measured, small. She looks down. “…is no longer in service.”

Natasha feels as though someone just punched her right in the guts, the defence in her completely falling apart. There’s a sort of sorrow settling on the base of her stomach, one she couldn’t fight off no matter what she is telling herself at that moment. Natasha is completely lost in her own thoughts that she doesn’t catch what Maria says to her. 

“Nat? Nat!” Maria snaps her out of her thoughts and repeats what she’d just told her, “I said, why don’t you just ask Pepper and Tony for help? Like I’ve said before, Tony should be able to find all information regarding Steve with just a few taps on his computer. He should be able to even trace his new phone number.”

Maria’s idea does sound tempting, but Natasha wills herself to shake her head. Somehow, there’s an odd feeling of compliance within her, like there’s nothing she could do but accept this painful fate that maybe, just maybe, she _isn’t_ supposed to meet Steve. “I don’t think it’s supposed to work like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think that if we were supposed to meet, we would have already met?” Natasha puts in plainly, “Nevermind him calling me in 2017 but...it’s 2019, my number is unchanged. He could have called me in this time but he hasn’t. That’s telling enough, isn’t it?”

Natasha sees the hesitation in Maria’s expression, the defiance slowly appearing in her eyes. “So you’re letting fate decide what’s happening in your life?”

“Isn’t there a saying out there? If it’s meant to be, it will be.” Natasha says as calmly as she could. “So maybe...we’re just not meant to meet.”

“Since when have you let something as obscure as _fate_ dictate your life?” Maria scoffs. “I’m sorry, but that’s ridiculous.”

“Oh? _That’s_ ridiculous?” Natasha sits up straighter on her couch, her voice now two tones higher that it jerks Liho awake. “After nine months of communicating to a person from the past through a _magical_ -” Natasha stresses the last word with an air quote, “-mailbox that somehow connects our timelines together, you’re telling me that _saying_ is ridiculous?”

“Natasha, I…” Maria does not finish her sentence, merely looking at her best friend. Three seconds pass, then Natasha heaves a sigh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

“I get it, Nat. You’re tired.” Maria’s expression is gentle, understanding. “You don’t have to tell me. I know.”

“Can’t seem to hide anything from you, can I?” Natasha jokes, a small smile gracing her lips. Maria leans forward to nudge her side playfully, an action that causes Liho to hiss in discontentment at the sudden shift in position before she leaps down from the couch and wanders away. “I don’t know if I should continue this, to be honest.”

“You mean…”

“Writing to Steve.”

“Why n— _oh_.” Something clicks in Maria’s head, but she doesn’t say it. Natasha is too deep into her thoughts to realise she’d stopped her sentence midway. Maria thinks about it, realising just how much her best friend has changed in the entire course of talking to Steve. She had noticed it since a long time ago. Pepper had noticed it, too. Her footsteps were lighter, a smile almost permanently on her face most of the time. Natasha had been contented, _happy._ But tonight, she’s anything _but._

There can only be one reason why. Maria doesn’t think she should say anything, so she keeps mum. Instead, she pulls her best friend into her arms, patting the back of her head gently. “There, there. It’s okay, Nat.”

Nat doesn’t react, though she instinctively curls into Maria. She doesn’t cry either, even though her heart is somehow aching, hurting for a man she thinks she won’t ever meet. Natasha whispers to no one in particular, “Why me?”

Maria doesn’t know how to answer her, but Natasha doesn’t seem to mind the silence that ensues. She knows that there is no answer to her question, so she doesn’t wait for one.

* * *

Steve taps his feet on the ground, his heart pounding anxiously. He’s been standing outside in front of his mailbox for a solid half an hour, but his mailbox flag remains down, completely still. He checks his watch every few seconds, uneasiness gnawing his heart rapidly.

He wonders if Natasha called him, wonders if anything has changed in the future. How long were they in a conversation for? What did they say to each other? There are so many questions he wants to ask her, but none of which he could ask in an instant. All he could do is wait, but even waiting seems futile now as he stares at the mailbox flag.

Steve’s heartbeat slows down eventually, when he realises that it is almost midnight, and the flag remains unchanged, when he opens the mailbox one last time to find it empty. He walks back into the house with heavy steps, his heart sinking in realisation that this week, for the first time since he’d started talking to her, Natasha didn’t write to him.

* * *

Natasha receives a surprise in the form of her mother’s best friend, Melinda May, showing up in her front door one quiet, unexpected morning. Melinda was one of the two individuals who took care of Natasha after her parents passed away, even when she was in the Red Room. Melinda had dropped by as often as she could, buying her clothes and smuggling food into her room that was against Madame B’s dietary plans for Natasha. She had been the warmth and sunshine Natasha needed to get through each day living in the Red Room, where she had no one to confide in, no one to be friends with. She is the closest mother figure that she has, so when she opens the front door and finds Melinda staring right back at her, Natasha’s jaw drops open in surprise. 

“Melinda?”

“Is that how you greet your aunt?” Melinda chides immediately, but pulls Natasha in for a hug without hesitation. 

“But how did…” A few questions cross Natasha’s mind as she returns the hug tightly.

“Oh please,” Melinda pulls back, now staring at her with gleaming eyes and a warm smile, “like you’ve forgotten I was once a detective. I can find out things easily if I wanted to.”

Natasha chuckles lowly. “You contacted Maria, didn’t you?”

Melinda grins before inviting herself into Natasha’s apartment, settling herself comfortably onto her couch. “I wanted to surprise you, that’s why I didn’t call to ask where you’ve moved to. This is a rather cosy apartment, by the way.” 

Natasha shrugs, taking a seat across her aunt. “I guess. How’s--”

“Oh, your godfather’s fine.” Melinda dismisses Natasha’s question even before she could finish asking; she just knows. “He’s still travelling but he should be back by next year. Retirement is doing him pretty good if you ask me.”

Natasha couldn’t help but smile in response, thankful that both the people closest to being her parent figures seem to be doing well, healthy and happy. “That’s great. What about you, Melinda? Why are you here suddenly? How long are you here for?”

“I'm fine. I’ll be here for a few more days and then I’m going back to New Jersey this Friday. Are you this quick in wanting to get rid of me, child?” Melinda teases, pretending to frown disapprovingly.

“What? No!” Natasha shakes her head, laughter spilling out naturally. “I was just curious, you hardly come up to New York, anyway.”

“Well I had to, you haven’t visited me in aeons.” Melinda says in a dramatic tone. “It’s like you’ve _forgotten_ I’m still alive.”

“Melinda!” Natasha blanches, feeling awful immediately. Her aunt was right after all, it has been some time since she last visited her. Melinda had been the first she’d contacted to inform that she was quitting the Red Room Academy, and she’d dropped by to visit her once while she was still unemployed after that - that was the last time she went to New Jersey.

“ _Relax_ , this is not going to turn into a guilt tripping lecture.” Melinda snickers, seeing how pale Natasha is becoming. She chooses to divert the topic then. “So are you living alone?”

There’s an implication behind her words that Natasha understands right away, but she pretends not to. “No, I have Liho with me.” Natasha casually points at the black feline lying flat on her back.

Melinda rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “I don’t mean with a _pet._ I mean--"

“I’m alone.” Natasha quickly interjects, then sees how Melinda’s face falls slightly. 

“Really? You don’t have a boyfriend?” 

Natasha sighs, dreading this topic of conversation, but she shakes her head anyway. “Nope.”

“There’s really no one special in your life?” Melinda asks again in confirmation, and just one word is enough for Natasha to freeze, her thoughts suddenly flickering towards a person she has not spoken to in weeks. Her mind becomes blank, unsure of how to answer Melinda’s question.

“I um...I honestly don’t know how to explain that.” Natasha admits in the end, her voice tiny.

“So you do have someone!” Melinda’s face lights up in an instant; Natasha winces in automatic response to Melinda’s enthusiasm. “I want you to tell me _everything._ ”

Her reply is curt. “It’s complicated.” 

“ _Try_ me, Natasha.” Melinda says firmly then adds, “Unless you want me to tell your godfather that you’re still alone so he can set you up with a nice man. Or woman. You know we don’t judge.”

“Melinda!” Natasha half whines in embarrassment. “Why would you bring him into this? You know how restless he gets when it comes to this topic.”

“All your parents asked from us was to make sure you are not alone, that you’ll have someone to take care of you when you’re old and grey and--”

“Okay, Melinda, really?” She fights the urge to facepalm herself. “That’s at least fourty years down the road. Why are you so worried?”

“Don’t try to divert the topic, young lady!” Melinda wags a finger at Natasha, her tone a clear warning. Natasha sighs, trying to find the words to explain herself without exposing the truth. “He’s just...he’s living very far, okay?” 

“How _far_ is far? Like a few states away?” 

_Oh, the irony,_ Natasha fights the urge to laugh, composing herself with a shake of her head. “Further.”

“Huh, I see.” Thankfully, Melinda doesn’t press on. “What’s his name? Job? Age?” This is turning into a full blown interrogation and there is nothing Natasha could do to stop Melinda from her agenda - what is up with her and detectives - so she groans and forces herself to answer. 

“His name is…” She feels a lump on her throat. “...Steve. He’s an artist and he’s 29, I mean 31...this year.”

“And you like him? Like...really, _really_ like him?”

“I do.” Her answer comes off as a whisper, eyes darting onto the ground. She is unable to meet Melinda in the eyes. “But I don’t think we can work out.”

“Oh honey, why not?”

“Long distance is tough.” 

“Is he not worth that chance?”

Natasha doesn’t know how to answer that, so she keeps quiet. Melinda decides to take this as a prompt for her to continue, “Natasha, I’ve known you for so long and I know for one that you aren’t a quitter. If you think he is worth fighting for, then promise me you will at least try. Promise me you won’t give up unless you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want.”

It isn’t the place for her to disagree, especially not to Melinda, so Natasha simply nods.

* * *

A week later, Natasha finds herself in the Stark Tower. She watches with careful eyes, every minute detail recorded in her brain as Morgan attempts to dance a basic beginner’s routine.

“Not like this, _malyutka,_ ” Natasha demonstrates, then bends down to correct Morgan’s pose. “Yes, like this.”

Morgan tries again, and Natasha smiles then claps in encouragement. “Correct, that’s _perfect_.”

The little Stark beams brightly at Natasha, her face splitting into a wide grin. Then Morgan proceeds to continue her routine with Natasha still watching her and helping her count the steps. When Pepper appears, Natasha tells Morgan to take a break, but the latter insists on continuing her practice. “Take it easy, _malyutka_.” Natasha merely says, giving her a pat before making her way towards Pepper.

Pepper is all smiles by the time she’d reached her. “Nat? Thank you, really, for doing this.”

“If you’ve seen the classes Morgan was attending, it’s really difficult _not_ to.” Natasha shakes her head, a small smile on her face as she turns around briefly to see Morgan still practising the routine by herself. “She’s improving so quickly. I’m glad I’m doing this, Pepper.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, Nat,” Pepper uncrosses her arms, “What made you change your mind?”

Natasha hesitates, her smile turns into a frown. “Someone convinced me that I should give dancing a chance again.”

Pepper pauses for a moment, the smile on her face blooming widely much to Natasha’s chagrin. “Steve?” Pepper asks sweetly just as Natasha mentally groans. She tries to act like hearing his name didn’t just send her straight into an abyss of guilt, first Melinda, now Pepper. 

“Yeah.” Still, Natasha admits, it really was because of Steve that made her want to teach Morgan ballet, anyway. But she says it in such a somber tone that Pepper’s smile turns into a frown in an instant. “Nat, what’s wrong?” She’s quick to ask even before Natasha could edge away. 

Natasha contemplates if she should just lie and tell Pepper _nothing,_ she’s pretty good at hiding things from people if she wants to. But when Natasha looks at Pepper and sees genuine concern and worry on her best friend’s face, she doesn’t think it is appropriate to lie, so she asks, “Remember when you asked if I would ever try talking to Steve on the phone?”

Pepper nods, eyebrows furrowed together. 

“It didn’t work out.” Natasha states, and feels the instant pang in her heart again. Deep down, she knows she misses talking to Steve, receiving his letters each week had become such a routine that when she stopped doing that, it felt odd, like something in her life is missing. She doesn’t want to imagine how Steve is feeling, especially since she’d up and left without dropping him any letter before that decision. “He tried calling me in 2017 but I hung up on him. I tried calling him now, but his number has changed. And it’s not like I’m receiving any calls from him at this current time, too, so that’s that.”

“Oh, Nat.” Pepper breathes out, then reaches out to pull her best friend closer. “If you want, I can get Tony to check—"

“Don’t.” Natasha quickly interjects, pulling herself away from Pepper to give her a stern though not unkind look. She appreciates Pepper trying to help, but this isn’t her battle to fight. “Please.” She adds softly.

Pepper is giving her a look which she deciphers as _why not?_

“I can’t explain why.” Natasha shakes her head dispiritedly. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

Even if Pepper isn’t convinced, she still nods. “Okay, but if you need his help _anytime,_ just let me know.”

“Thanks, Pep.” Natasha simply says out of courtesy, she knows she isn’t going to take up on her offer. Pepper continues, “So I assume it’s because of that that you haven’t been speaking to Steve lately?”

If Natasha is surprised that Pepper has figured that out even without her saying anything, she doesn’t show it. Instead she merely nods. Pepper lets out an inaudible sigh. “Thought so.”

Natasha wants to ask Pepper _why_ but she stops herself at the last second. There’s a feeling building up in her that knows why Pepper said that, why she is so sure that Natasha isn’t communicating with Steve anymore. She thinks of what Pepper told her in the restaurant, thinks of the way Pepper had looked at her with genuine relief and adoration, then remembers how Pepper is looking at her these days - nothing too obvious, but more than enough for Natasha to decipher that she’s worried for her. Worried, because she’d noticed how much Natasha has changed in that span of weeks since she stopped writing to Steve. It’s borderline _pathetic_ , she chides herself harshly, pathetic to be so caught up in such a fantasy that reality no longer seems like a place she could act normally without people catching on that she is _trying_ to be.

How and when did she fall so deeply into this? Why?

She takes one look at Pepper and just like that, Natasha’s breath hitches in shock, a sudden realisation hits her in a speed of lightning before she could even foresee it happening. _No,_ she mentally says, _no, absolutely not. It’s crazy, doesn’t make sense, impossible. How can she, when she’s never met him before? It can’t be true, she is-_

“Nat? Are you all right?” 

Natasha simply stares at Pepper, wide-eyed, mouth slightly ajar, words not quite forming in her head. Pepper is looking at her, waiting for a response, her eyes equally as wide as Natasha’s - even Morgan has stopped practicing, casting curious gazes at the two adults, wondering what is happening.

“No,” She finally says, her tone oddly calm even if she nearly had a melt down just five seconds ago. “I don’t think I am.”

“Why?” Pepper’s response is immediate, concern etched all over her face. “Is it something I said? I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m in love with him.”

The admittance comes out smoothly, and now that she has said it out loud, Natasha waits for another wave of disbelief to hit her; but it never comes. Pepper’s expression goes from shock to realisation to confusion in a span of three seconds; her normal reaction would be to congratulate her friend for _finally_ figuring it out herself, but Pepper takes one look at Natasha and knows that something’s not quite right. So she asks, “Nat, what are you not telling me?”

Natasha lets out a shuddering sigh before making her way towards Morgan. She crouches down so that they’re at the same eye-level, Natasha giving her a soft smile. “Good job today, _malyutka,_ we’ll end our lesson early if that’s okay with you?” 

Morgan smiles, throwing her tiny arms around Natasha immediately. “I love you Auntie Nat, you’re the greatest teacher on planet earth.”

Natasha feels her heart melting at that innocent, pure love declaration. She hugs Morgan back tightly, then returns her words with equal adoration, “I love you too, you’re the greatest student on planet earth, _malyutka._ ” 

Morgan pulls back just that. “Auntie Nat?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t like seeing you sad.” 

Her heart aches even more hearing that from little Morgan, so Natasha forces herself to put on the biggest smile she could muster. “That’s very sweet of you, _malyutka,_ but there’s no need for you to worry about me. Okay?” Natasha tickles Morgan gently, the latter erupting into fits of giggles. Pepper comes up to them then, Morgan naturally sticking herself to her mother’s leg. 

“Morgan, honey? Do you want to go up and find daddy?” Pepper asks, then casts a look at Natasha to tell her that she’ll be right back _._ Natasha merely looks on, her expression stoic, but she nods ever slightly. Pepper takes Morgan by the hand and leaves, and Natasha is suddenly alone in this huge dance studio. While she waits for Pepper to come back, Natasha does what she does best; dance. It’s a simple routine, one she has had memorised right into the deepest core of her heart since high school. 

When she told Pepper she was willing to teach Morgan, she’d make that decision knowing it was the right thing to do. That didn’t mean it wasn’t terrifying, though. Natasha had prepped for the lesson for days, working out the tension, rigidness of her shoulders, afraid that her legs would give in and give up on her. It took only a few minutes for Natasha before she was completely immersed in the music, the burst of energy and grace coursing through her veins, in the steps that were all muscle memory, lost in routines that were so ingrained in her—she’d remembered what she wrote to Steve; that dancing was part of her identity. 

It was never dancing that she wanted to escape from, to forget. When she came to that conclusion, she was finally at ease.

Natasha stops right on the second the music stops. She takes a long and deep breath, wiping the sweat away with the towel she snatched up from the chair, noticing that Pepper has already returned to the dance studio, waiting for her. When their eyes meet, she could read the emotion on Pepper’s face, that genuine awe, happiness that her best friend had rekindled her love for an art she thought she’d given up on.

“You know,” Pepper begins, “You really are the most beautiful when you dance.”

Natasha lets out a laugh. “ _Careful,_ Pepper, if Tony hears you, he might think you’re in love with me.”

Pepper rolls her eyes, then chuckles. “I’m really glad, Nat. Glad that you’ve found love in ballet again.”

“Hmm, you might want to thank Steve for that.” Natasha says before she even realises what she’s saying. But by the time she does, it is already too late; she just gave Pepper a window of opportunity to resume the topic they’ve left just ten minutes ago. But Pepper is more considerate than she is nosy, as she always is, so she asks, “Do you want to talk about it, though?”

“I’m not sure what I want.” Natasha replies, and it takes Pepper a few seconds to understand that that sentence isn’t a response to her question. 

“With Steve?”

She nods. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Sometimes,” Pepper starts her sentence carefully, “you should just follow what your heart says.”

Natasha frowns, then gives her an incredulous look. “ _Really_?”

But Pepper is dead serious, her expression firm as she nods. “Pushing _everything_ aside that’s making you this confused and unsure, what do you want to do?”

The answer comes to Natasha a lot easier than she’d expected, it’s an answer she knows she’d buried deep within herself. “I’d like to try again.” She whispers. “At least one more time. I’d like to try and meet Steve.”

Pepper smiles. “Then do that, Nat. Don’t think of anything else. Don’t over complicate something as simple as that.”

Natasha opens her mouth to argue, but shuts it immediately, knowing that Pepper is right, her last sentence already lingering in her mind repeatedly. Could it really be as simple as that? “But what if-”

“Don’t,” Pepper says immediately, mirroring the way Natasha had said that moments ago. “Don’t think of all the _what if_ s, Nat. Don’t think of any of that until you absolutely have to. Don’t you think Steve deserves this last chance, too?”

Natasha is hesitant, but she nods anyway. There is truth in Pepper’s words, and they remind her of Melinda’s own words, too. Does Steve, no, do _they_ deserve another chance? At least one last attempt to see if they could overcome whatever it is that the universe has dictated for them?

Natasha eventually decides that _yes, they do, they do deserve one last chance._

* * *

Her letter comes unannounced, just as Steve is on the verge of acceptance that he wouldn’t ever receive her letters again, on a Friday evening in the last week of October instead of their usual pre-decided Sundays. 

Steve is surprised, but his heart leaps with joy when he sees the familiar handwriting in front of the envelope. There’s a surge of insurmountable happiness that he couldn’t explain just by seeing the letter, seeing the way Natasha wrote his name. He opens it on the spot, not caring about the cold air hitting every part of his body, he is just glad to hear from her again.

_Dear Steve,_

_I owe you an apology for not writing to you lately, I’ve been doing some thinking to myself. I know we tried talking to each other on the phone and that didn’t work out. So I came up with another idea._

_Is it too much if I ask for us to meet? Two years from your time, next week from mine, on the 3rd of November 2019, 7PM. There’s a famous restaurant, Asgard Cuisine, down the street of 1st Avenue that I think you would like._

_I don’t want to hope too much, but could we give another chance to ourselves to meet each other?_

_WIth love,_

_Natasha_

_25th October 2019_

“I’ll be there, Nat.” Steve breathes out without hesitation, a promise which makes his heart soar. “Two years from now.”

* * *

As she makes her way down the street of 1st Avenue, Natasha feels the jittering of her nerves in every part of her body. She sticks her hands into her coat pockets, trying her level best to calm herself. It’s 6.30PM when she reaches the restaurant, and the feeling of nervousness consumes her again. It is only when she enters the restaurant and wills herself to greet the receptionist that Natasha pushes all those presumptions out from her mind. 

“Hi, this is going to sound really odd, but I think there’s a reservation for two under the name of Steve Rogers made two years ago.” Natasha says nervously, her voice squeaks uncharacteristically as she sees how the receptionist is frowning and scanning the book in front of him. And then, a look of disbelief crosses his face. 

“Wow.” He is clearly in awe. “You’re right. Wait. This is probably the guy Mr. Odinson has been telling me about.”

Natasha is mildly amused. “Really?”

“Yeah,” The receptionist nods his head enthusiastically. “Mr. Odinson, he’s the owner of the restaurant by the way, he said I might encounter someone who’d made a really odd reservation to him two years back.”

She’s smiling, now. “I see.”

“Anyway, I digress. This way, please.” 

If Natasha is relieved to hear that, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she tails behind the receptionist who is leading her to a table for two at the corner of the restaurant by the window. She thanks him warmly and settles down onto the seat.

Her thoughts begin to run again; is this finally the time they would meet? Will she finally be able to see Steve Rogers face to face, in front of her, and not just a man in written words from the past? Will she finally be able to tell him how she feels about him? Will he share her feelings?

She’d barely settled down for five minutes when her thoughts are interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone. Natasha jumps in shock. She takes out her phone to see Pepper’s name on the screen, and she answers it on a gut feeling that something is wrong.

“Pepper?”

“Nat? I’m so sorry, I know tonight is supposed to be a huge night for you, but this is urgent—” Natasha’s eyes are widening at how frantic Pepper sounds over the phone. For all the years she’s known Pepper, that woman has always been calm and collected no matter what. “—It’s _Maria_. She was acting as an operative agent for a mission but she got compromised, and it’s bad, Nat, it’s really bad—”

“What happened to Maria?” Natasha cuts Pepper calmly, wondering how she could still sound so collected when all she feels is but.

“She was _shot.”_

Natasha feels all the air rushing out of her lungs the moment she hears that. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe, already standing. “She bled a lot, and I contacted her last, so the hospital called to ask if her family is nearby. They need…they need blood.”

 _Blood. She’s a universal donor._ Natasha is already halfway out of the restaurant, pretending not to notice the look of alarm on the receptionist’s face when she passes him. “Which hospital is she at? I’m on my way.”

Natasha doesn’t allow herself to thread too much into the consequences of leaving the restaurant, though her heart is aching, sinking. But Maria needs her and there is nothing more important than saving her best friend’s life, so she starts her car and drives out without even a moment of hesitation. It is only when she hits the road that a single painful thought flits into her mind.

_Please forgive me, Steve._

* * *

Natasha and Pepper are waiting outside the operation theatre, both huddled together on the waiting chairs. Tony is there in a corner, asking—interrogating—Maria’s partner, Phil Coulson, on what went wrong. His attempt at keeping a low voice proves futile as their conversation echoes loudly in the quiet corridors. Throughout the entire waiting period, both friends clung onto each other in silence. Pepper doesn’t bring up Natasha’s dinner plan at all, even though the latter knows it’s in the back of her mind. She could almost hear it in the silence, so she decides to break it.

“Don’t worry about it, Pep.” 

Pepper lifts her head from Natasha’s shoulder, a quizzical look on her tired face. “Sorry?”

“The dinner.” She whispers, her face void of any emotions, her heart calm. Ever since Natasha arrived in the hospital at 7, she has come to a solitary acceptance that she wouldn’t be able to see Steve that night. A quiet voice at the back of her mind adding, _perhaps never._ It affirms the theory in her mind, all her worries and predictions, an apparent answer from the universe that maybe, just maybe, they aren’t ever going to meet. 

That thought hurts her. She had followed Pepper’s advice asking her not to think about all the _what ifs_ , not to complicate something that was so simple, but at this point in time, Natasha knows that there is no escape from acknowledging that her situation would never be simple. It never will be without all the _what ifs_ and _what shoulds_. That is the price she has to pay for defying time theories and logic in the first place.

“Nat, you could still make it.” Pepper half insists, her eyes a wave of sadness knowing what Natasha has to give up to be at the hospital tonight. She tries to study her, to see what she is thinking, but Pepper knows it’s almost impossible to know when Natasha doesn’t want her to, not when she’s a master at keeping her thoughts to herself.

Natasha glances to her side while shaking her head firmly. She gives Pepper a small but knowing smile. “I want to be here when Maria comes out. I have to make sure she’s all right.”

Pepper has no choice but to nod and agree. Tony makes his way over to them at that moment, his face a mask of annoyance and frustration. “Bunch of idiots.” He mutters under his breath, ignoring the look his wife is giving him. “They risked her life for an _intel_. If anything happens to Hill, I swear, they’ll not hear the end of me. I’ll make sure to pull the plug out off their finances and stop donating money to their—”

“Tony.” Pepper warns him lightly, “Now’s really not a good time.”

Tony stops immediately. They exchange a brief glance before Tony’s features soften in realisation that Natasha is quiet and has not even bat an eyelash towards his direction, she probably wasn’t even listening to what he’d just said. And that is extremely telling, even if Tony can’t read her as well as Maria could. “Hey, Red. How are you holding up?” He tries, putting on his best kind tone he could muster at that moment.

Natasha finally gives him a look of acknowledgement. She manages a small smile and gives a curt answer. “Good.”

“You donated quite an amount there,” Tony gestures at the bandaid on her arm. 

She nods tiredly. “Anything for Maria.”

“Pepper told me you had an important dinner date. You sure you don’t want to be there?” Tony asks and their eyes meet. Natasha knows that Tony doesn’t know the exact details of _why_ her dinner date is supposed to be important, but seeing his genuine look of concern is enough for her to put on another assuring, albeit forceful, smile. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Even though Natasha feels the disappointment surging within her, she doesn’t dwell too long on it. Not when Maria’s condition is still unknown. Not when her best friends need her, first. 

She’ll come to terms with that. Eventually.

* * *

It’s two days later that Maria finally wakes up, much to her friends’ relief. Natasha is by her side when she does, having taken the entire week off from work (bless Tony and Pepper) to take care of Maria. 

“You look like shit.” is what comes out from Maria’s mouth first the second she sees Natasha, the latter having slept less than 4 hours for two days straight. The latter simply laughs, and that’s how she knows her best friend is all right. She stops worrying after that, even if Maria spends the rest of the day fast asleep.

Pepper drops by at night after work, right after Maria wakes and positively looks infinitely better than before. They exchange a few words while Natasha remains quiet. This cycle repeats for two more days before Maria is back to her usual healthy self, though still bedridden. 

“Okay, so what did I miss?” Maria asks the second she has recovered enough to spring out complete sentences. Natasha shakes her head with a smile, but it is Pepper who replies her.

“It’s only been five days, _Maria_.” She says, but Maria quirks an eyebrow up.

“A lot can happen in five days, _Pepper_.” She stresses her name as how Pepper did hers. 

“Nothing on my side. Except maybe Morgan mentioning the ‘shit’ word.” Pepper reports either way with a smile and Maria lets out a rather loud and uncharacteristic laugh. “Tony did _not_!”

Pepper sighs. “He did.”

“Oh my god, you must have been _so_ mad.” Maria stifles another laugh while Pepper merely shrugs. It is then that Maria casts a look at the quiet Natasha, her eyebrows furrowed together. “Is Nat okay?” She whispers to Pepper when she realises Natasha may physically be with them at that moment, but not her thoughts. Pepper heaves a sigh, half knowing what is up with the redhead. She leans forward to whisper, “It’s about Steve.”

“What happened?” Maria asks, concern on her face. She darts another quick glance at Natasha who’s now staring outside the window unblinkingly. 

Pepper bit her lower lip, debating if she should tell or not. When Maria gives her another hard look, an urge for her to spill the beans, Pepper relents with a sigh. “She was supposed to meet Steve for dinner, an arrangement she made over the letter she wrote to Steve again, but…” She lets her sentence trail off. 

“But what, Pep?” Maria asks, keeping her voice low. 

Pepper hesitates. “The dinner was on the night you were shot.” 

Maria’s face falls immediately, knowing the implication behind Pepper’s words. “So she didn’t meet…?”

Pepper shakes her head. “She didn’t want to leave you, Maria.”

“You two _do_ know I can still hear you even when you whisper, right?” Natasha’s voice effectively cuts their conversation short, Maria and Pepper whipping their heads immediately into her direction. “Nat, we—” Maria starts, but Natasha dismisses her reply with a wave. “I know you two are concerned over me. I’m fine. I’ve made up my mind, anyway.”

“What for?” It is Pepper’s turn to ask.

“I think it’s time for me to stop writing to Steve.” She announces slowly. Each gave different reactions; Maria’s face is impassive, somehow having a hunch that this would happen. Pepper’s is a mixture of both sad and sympathy, having known what had transpired before the dinner plan. But both are already reaching out for her; Pepper holding one hand, Maria the other. 

“I’ll be okay.” Natasha assures them with a smile. Maria and Pepper notice that her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Are you sure about this, Nat?” Maria confirms.

Natasha nods, albeit weakly. “I believe we were never meant to communicate past December.” She states, having connected all the dots the night before. “Because I would be moving into the lakehouse in January 2018, and he would have moved out by then. There is no way we could have kept in touch.”

When Natasha puts it in that way, it all makes sense to both Maria and Pepper. They remembered going to visit Natasha when she first moved into the lakehouse, there had been no mention whatsoever about a man named Steve. It was clear that nothing had happened in 2018. But it also strikes a melancholic chord in both their hearts, knowing how much her friend is probably hurting after finally opening her heart to someone.

“I’ll be okay.” Natasha repeats, but this time, it is a mantra meant for herself.

* * *

Steve has been wondering for days if the future him has met with Natasha. When he’d made the reservation in the restaurant, the receptionist gave him a strange look, unable to comprehend a two years in advance booking. He’d told Steve that it wasn’t possible to make a reservation that early in time, so Steve had to repeat the same thing to the owner who had come by just then. Steve had to assure him that it wasn’t a joke or a prank, and that the two years advance reservation is extremely important to him. The restaurant owner agreed in the end, clearly amused by his request.

He has restlessly been waiting for Sunday to see if Natasha would write to him, and tell him everything that has happened. Did they meet? How is he like two years from now? What did he say to her? 

When the next letter arrives and he opens it to find a relatively longer letter than what she’d ever written before, Steve finds his heart breaking in realisation.

_Dear Steve,_

_Will I ever get to meet you?_

_Because we didn’t get to meet on that day. Something urgent happened and I had to leave before 7. I’m not even sure if you went, but if you did, please allow me to apologise to you, even if you would only know of this two years from your time._

_There’s another reason why I am writing this letter to you. For the longest time, I’ve been caught in this happy dream that I never wanted to wake up from, tangled in myriad of emotions that I cannot seem to fathom. A sort of fantasy that came to me at the least expected timing, when I was lost and at crossroads, not knowing what to do. On the day I moved out, you moved in. And just like that, as though fate warranted this to happen to someone like me, you waltzed right into my life without any warning. You became a friend. You showed me what it would be like to see the light at the end of the darkest tunnel. You gave me direction. You made it easy for me to open my heart to you, to tell you things that I haven’t even told Maria or Pepper._

_You taught me how to remove the walls I’ve built around my heart. I was broken before I met you, but you helped me heal. You mended those wounds from my past. And for that I will forever be grateful to you._

_What I am about to say is entirely selfish of me, but it is something that must be said. Corresponding with you through the many letters we have exchanged with each other has been an experience I would never forget. One would even say that it is a privilege—and I whole-heartedly believe it is, Steve._

_But I think it is time for us to stop._

_We have what we have when we have it. And right now, Steve, I don’t have you. I don’t have the chance of getting to know you off letters, because I’ll never be certain if I could ever meet you. If our paths would cross on the same year, on the same timeline. Or are we only destined to converse with each other two years apart, like two parallel lines that will never meet?_

_Before it gets even harder for me, I ask of you to stop writing to me, stop waiting to see if I would reply. It is time we move on from this fantasy. I will not be coming back to the lakehouse after this. Perhaps we will meet someday, when the universe decides that we should._

_Until then, I wish you nothing but the best, Steve. Always._

_With a heavy heart,_

_Nat_

_10th November 2019_

Steve isn’t aware that his heart could possibly break any further than it already has, but by the time he reaches the end of Natasha’s letter, he knows that they’ve broken into thousands of irreparable pieces. When he rereads the letter, Steve realises, a little too late, that love sneaks in softly and slowly like a quiet voice. Love lingers within his heart like embers; it doesn’t go away no matter how much he tries to shake it off. It is a sudden awareness that rattles every core of his body, the realisation that he _doesn’t_ want to lose her. 

But how can it be difficult, Steve expels a shuddering sigh, to lose someone you’ve never quite had in the first place?

* * *

A few days after, Steve decides to accept the job opportunity given by Sharon, knowing now that it is only the right thing to do. He informs his decision to both Bucky and Sam, and tells them not to worry about him, that he will be alright. Steve doesn’t go into the specifics, and his best friends are mindful enough not to ask. He contacts his family lawyer, Scott Lang, and tells him to draft a power of attorney for himself for matters relating to the lakehouse, then informs him to put his house up for rent in mid December. It’s such a short notice for a house away from the city, Scott tells him, but Steve replies that he isn’t worried—he knows that Natasha would be moving in soon, anyway. 

The pieces of the puzzle finally fits as he stares at Liho lying by the door. His cat is staring at him, as if knowing what he is about to do. Steve kneels down to scratch Liho, a solemn smile appearing on his face. “Will you miss me, I wonder?” He asks, then chuckles to himself lightly. “You don’t have to worry though, you’ll be getting a new owner next month, and she’ll definitely take good care of you, even if she will be repulsed by you trespassing into her place in the beginning.”

Liho purrs at that, and Steve continues sternly, “Promise me you’ll behave and that you won’t cause any unnecessary trouble to Natasha.” Liho stares at Steve for two seconds, then wanders off uncaringly. Steve shakes his head, but he is smiling. At least he doesn’t have to worry about Liho, knowing that she would be in the hands of someone who would care for her.

After the moving truck takes all his remaining boxes, Steve stands in an almost empty house. When he walks around the lakehouse one last time, it is with heavy steps and a sorrowful heart. It is funny how so much has changed in just one year, he thinks to himself. The lakehouse wasn’t the place he’d call home initially, after what happened to his mother. It wasn’t a place he thought he could seek solace in, a place he’d grown to love and cherish. But it did, with the help of a woman he had fallen for but isn’t destined to meet. He wishes he could tell her that, at the very least—that he loves her.

Steve knows that the lakehouse would soon provide Natasha with the comfort she seeks, and it makes leaving all this behind easier. He thinks of all the letters he’d placed into the mailbox, even though Natasha told him not to write to her anymore, hoping to one day open it and find that they are gone—but it never happened, of course. Steve removes all of those letters eventually, tying them in a bundle and keeping them in a box. One day, maybe one day, he’ll be able to take all these letters out again, when he is no longer hurting.

Steve gives a final pat on the front door, locks it one last time, and walks away. He doesn’t look back.

* * *

**_end of part iii_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _malyutka_ = little one.  
> power of attorney = written authorisation allowing another person to act on the principal owner's behalf (usually) for legal matters.  
> Disclaimer: I actually don't know what is Nat's blood type (I can't find it) so I used O to fit the plot. I hope that's okay.
> 
> Please don't kill me, writing this chapter made me really emotional too - gosh, this fic wasn't even supposed to exceed 20k but it's on its road to 40k now legit in TEARS what did i get myself into?? Anyway, I won't say much about the future chapters but pleaseeeee stay with me, I have things planned out already so don't give up on me yet!!
> 
> Thank you to all those liking this fic so far ahhh. Comments and kudos are appreciated as usual, I would love to hear what you guys think of this story/chapter because it's one of the hardest that I've ever written (even though I used to live and breathe angst) and I might only be able to update a week or so later, gotta help my professor out with her research and chap 4 is only about 20% done. Until then, bye bye!


	4. my love, i'm in love with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of fate and timing _finally_ aligning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do read my end notes for more explanation and to know my thought process while writing this (if you are interested!)

Natasha’s life slowly falls back into a mundane routine. She wakes up at 7, goes to work, comes home after dinner and goes to bed by 11. Her cycle repeats, differing only when she has to teach Morgan ballet. She spends more time with Maria and Pepper on Fridays and Saturdays. On Sundays, she sleeps in, stays in bed until her stomach jerks her awake angrily.

It is the start of 2020, two months since Natasha last visited the lakehouse. Ever since the last letter, she’d decided to keep herself busy by drowning herself with work. While Pepper is impressed with the efficiency of her assignments and obvious impeccable work ethic, the lady CEO is somehow still a little worried for her. Pepper doesn’t inquire much about how she’s feeling, knowing Natasha hates it when she goes all mother hen mode on her, so she does it in her own Pepper way—asking her out for lunch, checking in on her department every now and then and asking if she needs any assistance. They’re usual things a good boss would do, but Natasha sees through her every action as a concerned friend. She lets her do it though, just for the peace of her best friend’s mind that she’s really _okay_.

And Natasha would like to believe that she _is._ That is what she tells Maria and Pepper anyway. It does strike her though that usually she wouldn’t have to put up this facade to her best friends—but she’d changed. With Steve, it is different, it has always been different. It’s a difficult two months to get by, but Natasha manages to one way or another. She’d like to believe that she’s numbed to the pain of a wrecked heart, but when the night comes and she is surrounded in the silence of nothing but her own thoughts, her mind drifts to him naturally. Despite the raw pain in her heart, she still thinks of him; Natasha wonders how he is, where he is at the moment, if his condition is any better than hers. Does he still remember who she is, or had he moved on, unlike her?

Then she wonders if there is a way to fall out of love with him, if there are any ways to mend a broken heart—they are questions that would always linger in her mind as she drifts off to sleep, questions to which she does not have answers to.

* * *

_Nat? I need you to do something for me._ The chat bubble pops up in Natasha’s computer one morning. It’s a message from Pepper, so Natasha is quick to respond with a _noted, what is it?_

It turns out that Tony is thinking of expanding his charity work into the field of arts, and wants Natasha to survey a few museums and galleries for him. She’s given a few days to complete the task, nothing too difficult for her, she thinks. Pepper gives her the leeway to not come into the office during that duration, and Natasha doesn’t miss the opportunity to tease her for being a _way too good boss_. Pepper ignores her with a smile.

Natasha begins her task dutifully, completing 1/3 of the list Pepper has provided for her in just two days. On the third day, she is scheduled to visit a medium sized semi prestigious art gallery called Carter Gallery, and Natasha gets on doing that the first thing in the morning. The Carter Gallery’s New York branch director is there to greet her, a blonde woman by the name of Sharon Carter, and from her surname itself, Natasha deduced that she’s probably related to the gallery’s namesake. 

“I’m sorry but have we by any chance met before?” Sharon blurts out after Natasha introduces herself, to which the latter shakes her head politely, albeit somewhat surprised. “I believe this is our first time meeting.”

Sharon apologises sheepishly before beginning the tour of the gallery, pointing sections by sections to Natasha and explaining each artist and the idea that Carter Gallery is trying to convey to the general public. She takes notes diligently and objectively, noting down the important points that Pepper had emphasised to look out for.

What she doesn’t expect is to come face to face with a section by an artist she _clearly_ knows. At first she doesn’t realise this, not until she sees his name on one of the artworks and feels her breath catching on her throat.

“Ah, these artworks are painted by Steve Rogers.” 

Hearing his name again sends a tidal wave straight into her heart. She levels herself quickly, keeping her composure and acting as though this is her first time hearing his name. Sharon does not notice anything odd, if the way she proceeds to elaborate about Steve is any indication. 

“His works were in the London spotlight two years ago and he caught some attention there. We only started adding his artworks into our New York branch in late 2019, but some of these artworks were drawn even before that.”

Natasha is incapable of saying anything, her eyes unable to leave the paintings on the wall. She is completely mesmerised seeing Steve’s works, recalling in their earlier letters that he was still trying to get a breakthrough. 

“Do you know…” Natasha somehow finds her voice, ignoring the lump on her throat. “If he is here in New York now?”

Although it hurts to think about him, Natasha feels a swell of pride in her heart— _he did it, he got his well deserved breakthrough in 2018._ And his artworks are _beautiful,_ she could sense that each stroke were painted with care and genuine love. She is suddenly reminded of the sketch he’d given her before, during their first and last map-date, the one she still kept safely in her journal, the one she took out to see whenever she thought about him.

“I’m not entirely sure of his current whereabouts. He flies back and forth from London to New York occasionally.” When Natasha hears Sharon’s answer, part of her doesn’t react, somehow having expected that answer deep down in her heart.

“I see.” She manages a reply, her voice suddenly hoarse. She could hear the loud beating of her heart no matter how much she tries to calm herself _._ Hearing those words from Sharon is yet another reminder of a relationship that isn’t meant to be, and Natasha suddenly feels overwhelmed being in this gallery. She is well aware that she needs to be professional as a representative from Stark Industries, so Natasha doesn’t allow her emotions to betray her.

She is about to turn around and calmly leave when something catches her eyes; an artwork displayed at the side of the wall. Natasha is automatically drawn to the familiarity of it, for some reason, her legs carrying her there even before she could fathom what is happening.

She stops right in front of the painting, her heart in her throat, hands trembling slightly as she reads the title of this artwork.

_For You from the Future._

It hits her then, fast and at once. It’s a portrait painting of _her._

Her hand flies to cover her mouth, her vision clouding, eyes suddenly brimming with tears she’d fought hard to suppress since she walked into this particular section. If she notices how Sharon is looking at her weirdly, or how she’d suddenly realise _why_ Natasha looks so familiar, Sharon doesn’t say it. She’s polite enough not to interrupt, standing by the side and taking in Natasha’s genuine reaction towards the painting. 

Natasha edges closer to the painting, her eyes landing on the description below it. She’d kept her eyes opened wide to avoid the tears from spilling, but the second she reads the description of the painting, Natasha knows her attempts would be futile.

— _“If we ever meet, I wouldn’t know if the sky would be blue, or grey, or filled with pink, purple hues of the sunset as beautiful as you. The only thing I do know is that I will always love you.”_

* * *

The moment Steve steps out from the arrival gate, he spots Bucky in the crowd of waiting people. Steve groans in embarrassment immediately, his eyes landing on what his best friend is holding high in the air - a huge cardboard with block letter words of _WELCOME BACK ARTIST OF THE YEAR, STEVEN GRANT ROGERS!_

Steve pretends not to see Bucky, he speed walks towards the other end, but his best friend is already pushing past the crowd to reach him. Bucky is already teasing him the second he is within earshot from Steve. “Do you not like my sign, Steven Grant Rogers? I worked all night to make this!”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve mimics the tone Bucky used on him, his face a beetroot red, realising that some people had glanced into his direction. “I appreciate your effort, really, but _seriously_?”

Bucky waves one hand in the air, the sign now safely tucked under his armpit. “What’s the use of having a best friend who is famous if I can’t flaunt it for the world to see?”

Steve groans again. “I’m not famous.”

“Says the guy who appeared in not one but _two_ magazines last year!”

“They’re _art_ magazines,” Steve is semi flabbergasted, “ _No one_ reads them unless they’re bored or have nothing else better to read!”

“Hey!” Bucky puts one hand over his chest, feigning hurt. “ _I_ do. _Sam_ too.”

“Thank you?” Steve says then finally breaks into a grin. “It’s nice seeing you again, Buck.”

Bucky grins back. “I had to ask for a half day leave to come here, do you know that? Are you finally going to appreciate having me as a best friend now?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the best.” Steve says to appease Bucky, though deep down he knows his words are true. Ever since Steve left for London, his two best friends had been nothing but supportive. Sam would always send him messages in chatting apps, asking how his day was, Bucky would regularly send him pictures of George, who’d grown so much in that period of time he was away. When he came back to New York for Christmas in the past two years, he’d spent most of his time with them. Even so, Steve knows that they’re still walking on eggshells around him - they don’t bring up her name anymore, knowing how much he still missed her even if she was nothing but a distant memory now. He does still think of her sometimes, though, when the stars are shining brightly above his head, or when he sees the orange and red hues of sunset. His mind naturally drifts to her first when he hears classical music in the air or reads poems from Shakespeare. It isn’t something he could control.

Even if she was his past now, an _almost_ , there wasn’t a day that went by without Steve thinking if she is alright. Sometimes he would wonder if he is pathetic for still pining over someone not within his reach, someone he’d never even met before. It’s 2020, another new year—shouldn’t he learn to let go, by now?

* * *

It is movie night over at Maria’s on Friday, the three best friends sharing a couch together with Maria in the middle holding a bowl of popcorn; Notting Hill is playing on the screen in front of them. It is a classic they’ve seen almost thirty times to a point of being able to recite lines from the movie in a heartbeat, yet it is also the movie they keep going back to every now or then whenever they don’t have any other movies to watch. 

They’re halfway through the movie when Pepper decides to drop a multimillion question on Maria without any warning. “Maria, are you dating someone at the moment?”

Natasha is mildly taken aback when Maria starts coughing violently, having choked on the popcorn she was eating one second ago. She reaches out to tap her best friend’s back a few times, a knowing grin slowly spreading across her face as she meets eyes with Pepper. 

“What makes you say that?” Maria sputters out ungracefully after her coughing fit, her face now bright red. It’s a clear indication, an answer to Pepper’s question, so Natasha begins to snicker.

“You missed like a few of our plans these past two weeks, and you’re always looking at your phone.” Pepper puts out the evidence gently. “It really doesn’t take a genius to figure out. Trust me, I have an intuition.”

“Oh god.” Maria shakes her head in disbelief, but doesn’t deny what Pepper just said to her. Instead, she continues, “You should consider changing your career, Pep.”

“I _knew_ it.” Pepper punches the air in triumph before reaching across Maria to high five Natasha.

“Since you’ve admitted it, you have to give us the details _now_.” It is Natasha’s turn to speak, her tone playful and light as Pepper nods her head in agreement. “Yeah, like how did you two meet?” She adds on, all three forgetting the movie playing in front of them.

Maria gives an inward sigh before starting her story, “Remember when I was hospitalised two months ago?” 

“Uh huh.” Natasha and Pepper say in unison.

“He’s a nurse in that hospital.” Maria explains in a rather casual manner, as if this is no big deal. “We spoke for quite a bit and after I was discharged, I bumped into him again one morning and he remembered me.” 

“So it’s a hospital romance!” Pepper says excitedly, to which Maria winces slightly. “We’ve only _just_ been seeing each other for three weeks. There is no romance yet.”

“Okay but knowing you, if you’ve been seeing this guy for three weeks, it’s clearly the _start_ of one.” Natasha comes to Pepper’s rescue. Both of them are grinning so widely that Maria almost regrets telling them everything. “Ladies, _really,_ we’re just hanging out as friends for now.”

“As if all other relationships don’t start from there.” Pepper giggles then turns her attention back to the TV then. Natasha takes it as a cue to continue teasing her best friend. “Just embrace the possibility that you and...what’s this guy’s name?”

“Sam.” Maria replies, albeit a little unwillingly. 

“That you and Sam,” Natasha continues while exchanging a look with Pepper. “might become something more in the future.” 

Maria merely shrugs, her face still evidently a bright shade of red. “You two are hopeless.”

“Honey, we’re just happy you’re happy.” Pepper nudges Maria’s shoulder with a playful grin.

“So when can we see this guy?” Natasha hints in a knowing voice, and Maria doesn’t miss the chance to throw a few popcorn at her playfully. “We shall see about that.” Maria says eventually with a wink.

Natasha just smiles—she’s happy her best friend’s finally found someone she is even remotely interested in. It makes things slightly bearable, knowing that at least Maria has some luck in love unlike her.

* * *

Two days after his arrival back in New York, Steve decides to drop by Carter Gallery just to see if anything has changed since the last time he visited. Sharon had dropped him courtesy messages each time they put up new paintings from him, or rearranged the positions of his artworks on the wall. She’d notify him of the feedback he’d received too, comments from other artists and critics, both the good and the bad ones.

“Steve,” Sharon intercepts him at the entrance of the gallery, a huge smile on her face. “Welcome back!”

Steve returns the smile easily, giving her a friendly hug. “It’s good to be back. So tell me, what’s going on with you?”

Sharon smiles bashfully then holds up her left hand; Steve spots the silver ring on her finger even before she tells him, “Guess who got engaged?”

“Congratulations.” Steve says, his tone sincere and laced with nothing but happiness. He has no idea who Sharon is engaged to, but figures he must be a good man for her to say yes. “When’s the big date?”

“End of the year, probably.” Sharon shrugs, then beams at Steve. They start to walk towards the wing of his section. “I heard from Peggy that you’ll be here for good.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I’m not needed there anymore. It’s honestly nice to come back to New York, I love London but…” He shrugs, stopping mid-sentence when he really wants to continue and say, _it doesn’t feel like home to me._

The both of them arrive at his section, and Steve sees that nothing much has changed. He sees his hard work and sweat, his pride, all lined up against the wall that mirror the pictures Sharon had sent him. His eyes eventually stop at one particular painting on the side, one that clenches his heart instantly even though his expression doesn’t betray his thoughts.

Sharon seems to notice the shift in his eyes though, the brief waver in his gaze. When she follows his line of sight, she is suddenly hit by a memory that had just happened a few days ago. “Steve?” She calls out carefully and doesn’t say anything else until he is casting a glance in her direction. “I’m not entirely sure if I’m right but I have a gut feeling that tells me you should know about this.”

“What is it?” He asks softly, and the tone in which he said that sentence fuels Sharon’s determination to let him know.

“The other day, a representative from Stark Industries came to visit the gallery. Tony Stark wants to expand his charity horizons to include museums and galleries now, so she came to survey.” Sharon pauses. “And something really bizarre happened.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, something distant and faint stirs in his memory—a familiarity in the name _Stark Industries_ he couldn’t seem to put a finger on. “Go on.”

“She was really professional and everything until she reached your section.” Sharon explains quickly, eager to reach the part most pertinent to her story. “And when I first saw her, I thought she looked rather familiar, but we’ve never met before.”

Steve frowns but says nothing to interrupt, prompting Sharon to continue.

“And then I realised…” Sharon’s eyes are suddenly gleaming with excitement, “...the reason why I thought she was familiar was because of _your_ painting, Steve.”

Upon hearing that, Steve almost stops breathing at that moment, his heart hammering against his rib cage suddenly. He turns to fully face Sharon, mouth slightly ajar.

“She’s the girl from your painting. I’m quite _sure_ of it.” Sharon finally breaks the news to him, the encounter which had left Sharon confused for days. “Redhead, green eyes, _beautiful—_ ”

“What’s her name?” Steve asks, a surge of hope rising in his throat, but he doesn’t dare to think too much until he actually hears it, actually confirms that it is really—

“Ms. Romanoff.” Sharon quickly checks her journal of appointments. “Natasha Romanoff.”

All rationale thoughts disappear quickly in his mind the second Sharon said her name, the name he hasn’t heard in such a long time - two years to be exact, ever since he left for London on January 2018. It’s a name that has been carved and engraved in his heart, a name that has always been at the back of his mind even when he doesn’t want to think about her. The ache slowly returns, settling itself at the base of his heart.

“Steve?” Sharon is concerned now, wondering why Steve isn’t saying anything, or reacting to what she just said. She’d thought he would be happy to hear that, even though she doesn’t know the details as to who Natasha is to Steve, or how they met in the first place.

“Who is she to you?” Sharon braves herself to ask, curiosity getting the best of her. Steve stares at her for a good few seconds before his eyes drift back to the painting of Natasha. He takes a long time to construct an answer, but when he does, it comes out of him naturally, as though it is an obvious answer that is ingrained in him since the first time he wrote to her. 

“Someone out of reach.” He starts. “Someone I’ll never forget, someone that I’ll wait till the end of time.”

If Sharon thinks his answer doesn’t make much sense, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she nods, a smile coming back to her face. She thinks she’d pried more than she should, so she settles for a concluding remark. “I really hope things work out for you, Steve.”

Steve is hopeful for once, so he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so too.” He says wishfully.

* * *

“Natasha, here!” 

The second she stepped into Starbucks, Natasha is greeted by the young woman behind the counter who is waving at her. Ignoring the small queue in front of her and the people shooting daggers into her direction, Natasha makes her way gingerly towards Wanda, hands clasped together in gratitude. “God, thank you, Wanda, the app tip is such a life saviour, I’m running late today.”

“I can see that.” Wanda replies, producing Natasha’s regular order which she’d placed over the mobile application before she left her house that morning. “Have a great day!”

“You too.” Natasha returns with a smile, and within 3 seconds, she’s out of the store, head deep in her phone as she furiously types a reply to a work email. 

“Order for Steve!” The barista, Peter Parker, cries out just then, but no one makes a move towards the collection counter. Peter returns after thirty seconds to repeat, “Order for Steve!”

Few seconds after, Steve appears, his phone in his hands. “Sorry, I was answering a call.” He apologises sheepishly before taking the cup from the counter. Peter merely smiles, then proceeds to shout the next order. Steve is out of the store a few seconds after, completely unaware that he’d just missed Natasha by a few seconds, completely unaware that this moment marks the beginning of many other moments where their paths would cross each other, yet they would still not run into each other.

* * *

“Sharon has met _who_?” 

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in an instant as the words leave Steve’s mouth. The latter initially didn’t want to say anything, knowing that it would be too sudden and Bucky would probably overreact, but Steve feels the desperation to share this piece of information to someone, even if it wouldn’t get him anywhere. His prediction is fairly accurate, from how quick Bucky’s expression changes in a split second—it almost makes Steve laugh.

“You heard it the first time.” Steve says pointblank; it still breaks his heart to say her name out loud, if he is to be honest with himself.

Bucky is visibly stunned—Steve likes to believe it is in a good way—but eventually he shakes his head a few times. “This is the _same_ Natasha we’re talking about? The one you still can’t get over?”

Steve fights the urge to roll his eyes, trust Bucky to tease him even if it is done with good intention. Instead he nods. “The one and only.” He says in a dramatic tone that causes Bucky to finally smile. 

“Wow.” is all Bucky says in the end. 

Steve quirks an eyebrow up. “Really? That’s all you have to say?”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Bucky quickly shakes his head, his smile lingers on his face. “I’m just...awed.”

Steve doesn’t need to ask him why, he just knows. Truth be told, he is awed, too. He didn’t know he would be capable of loving someone so deeply that even if it has been two years, his feelings remain unchanged. It’s ridiculous, Steve mentally says, but deep down he knows that he wouldn’t want it to be any other way.

“So are you going to do anything?” Bucky asks the question he’d anticipated. “You now know that she’s working in Stark Industries. If you want to find her, you could just—”

Steve knows Bucky would probably think he’d gone mad, but he says it anyway. “No.”

Bucky’s face falls as quickly as it has lighted up earlier. Steve’s right; Bucky’s expression says a million things even though he is silent. He knows that his best friend cannot comprehend why he’d said _no,_ why he isn’t planning on doing _anything_. He could see the surge of impatience on Bucky’s face, but Steve is patient when he offers an explanation. “I think it has to happen naturally. With the right timing.”

Bucky looks like someone just strangled him. He sputters out in reflex, “Have you gone mad, Steven?”

Steve shakes his head slowly, but firmly. Bucky had called him _Steven,_ it really isn’t a joke when his best friend thinks he’d gone mad. “If it happens—”

“ _When_ ,” Bucky deadpans, clearly frustrated, “when it happens. I swear to God—”

“When it happens,” He corrects himself, “it happens.” Steve says easily, a surprise that his heart feels light. It’s taking him all his might and strength to just heed Bucky’s suggestion, to just run to Stark Industries, catch her at the entrance, tell her how much she means to him. But he recalls faintly Natasha’s last letter to him, remembers her last sentence that hadn’t truly left his mind ever since he’d read it the first time;

_Perhaps we will meet someday, when the universe decides that we should._

He knows Bucky wouldn’t understand. And if Sam knows about this, he probably wouldn’t, either, so Steve figures he’ll just leave this little detail out from his other best friend first. Still, it is the first time in two years that Steve finally feels some hope igniting within his quiet heart, sees some light at the end of the tunnel. It’s small, uncertain—but it is there.

And that, to Steve, is enough for now. To know that not all hope is lost and that there is still some sort of chance that he would one day be able to bump into Natasha. It might be on the streets, it might be in a cafe—it might be anywhere in New York—he wouldn’t be able to predict it. But if it happens, and _when_ it does, Steve knows that it will be worth all the wait.

* * *

Natasha is running late _again_.

She isn’t normally this absentminded, but ever since the day she’d sent her car to the service centre, she’d kept forgetting that she has to wake up at least half an hour earlier to take the 7.45 train, so that she could make it to work by 8.15. Her body alarm is so accustomed to waking up at 7 that when she unconsciously snoozes her alarm yet once _again,_ Natasha found herself cursing under her breath before making a mad dash for the bathroom, ignoring Liho’s wary gaze on her. 

She _really_ hates being late—oh, the irony is not lost—so she skips morning coffee that day. By the time she arrives at the subway, it’s a little past 7.45, and Natasha curses again as she watches the train leave right as she reaches the platform.

_It’s fine_ , she calms herself, _it’s fine, the next train will come in 5 minutes_. She should still be able to reach the office before 8.30. 

Natasha thinks she’s probably cursed that morning because right after she thinks of that, there is an announcement calling for a slight delay in the next train heading in the _exact_ direction she has to go to. Her anxiety is skyrocketing at that moment, so Natasha pulls out her phone to type a quick text to Pepper; _Running late because there’s a slight delay with the train. I’m so sorry, I’ll work overtime today to make up for it._

No sooner than thirty seconds after she hit the send button, Pepper’s response comes in; _Relax, Nat. Noted._

The train arrives eventually, and Natasha huffs loudly before entering one of its carriages. She quickly makes her way towards a corner spot, tuning out from the whispers and loud chattering in the train by plugging her earphones into her ears. Natasha left her novel at home because of the rush, and there’s still at least three stops before her station, so she resorts to looking out of the windows instead and seeing buildings and trees passing by in a blur. Eventually, she ends up lost in her own thoughts, staring vacantly into thin air and nothing in particular.

When the train comes to a halt in another stop, she is jerked back into reality. She squints her eyes quickly to look out of the window, reading the station name and realising that she’s one stop away from her stop. 

In a spur of moment which catches her off-guard—that’s when she sees him walk past the sign. 

_Steve._

There is no mistake to it; she’s had his face etched deep into her memory from all the times she’d looked at the photograph he’d sent her. It all happened so quickly that Natasha is stunned for a few seconds, and by the time her inner thoughts slapped her into instinct, he’d moved away from her line of sight.

“Excuse me, sorry,” Natasha doesn’t know how she could still form words when her throat has gone dry. She pushes past the people around her to get to the door, all other rationale thoughts have disappeared from her mind; suddenly she’s not thinking, only reacting to this unexpected circumstance, a chance she thinks she absolutely cannot miss.

Except, she still misses it, by a mere split second of the door closing right in front of her. Aghast, Natasha continues to squeeze past the crowd, moving sideways with her eyes trained on the view outside of the window. When she couldn’t find him anymore, Natasha stops, blinking back tears she isn’t aware has formed in her eyes.

“Steve,” is all she breathes out as she clutches her chest, a slow realisation dawns upon her — _it’s a new year_. A flitting thought that comes and goes. Another what _if_ crosses her mind before she could stop herself, even if she’d dared not tread into that territory for the longest of time _._

It nearly knocks the breath out of her when she realises what this could possibly mean. 

* * *

As Steve exits the subway, his phone starts to ring. When he takes it out of his pocket, he sees an unflattering photo of Bucky staring right back at him. “Yup?” He answers without hesitation.

“Dinner tonight at Sam’s? He’s not on night shift today and you know how rare that is.” He hears Bucky’s voice from the other line. “Says he wants to tell us something important.”

Steve walks and talks at the same time, “Really? Do you know what that is?”

“Beats me.” He could almost see Bucky shrugging. “Maybe he has a secret girlfriend that he wants to finally reveal to us.”

Steve chuckles. “I wish I could, really, but I have a commission to finish by this weekend so I have to stay back in the studio this evening.”

Bucky booes, though it isn’t one of ill-will. “Fine, guess it’ll just be the both of us then. Oh, by the way, Steve, I have a favour to ask from you if you are free tomorrow.”

“What is it?” 

“Okay so George’s birthday party is this Sunday, right?”

“Uh huh.” 

“I need help with—”

Before Steve could hear what Bucky has to say, he sidesteps quickly to avoid a teenager skateboarding down the pavement—and inevitably knocks into another person beside him, a woman in her late fifties or so, carrying a bag of groceries that she drops as a result of the unexpected collision. 

“I’m so sorry!” Steve apologises immediately, quickly bending down to retrieve the few oranges which had rolled out of the paperbag. He manages to stop them from rolling away any further, tries his best to dust them clean before tucking them back into the bag. 

“Oh, it’s alright.” The woman assures with a kind smile. She takes the paperbag as Steve rightfully hands it back to her. Their eyes meet. “Here you go.” He says, giving her another apologetic smile.

“Thank you, young man.” She replies warmly, tucking the bag safely around her arms. “Don’t worry about it, honestly. You have a nice day.”

“Have a nice day too, ma’am.” Steve responses politely, and edges away, putting his phone back onto his ear. “Sorry, you were saying?” 

“George’s birthday party,” Bucky repeats patiently, having heard the brief commotion over the line. “Can you help me get some party hats, balloons and other party stuff whatsoever? I’m in charge of the decorations and you _know_ I’m not artsy enough to put together a theme.”

“Is George my nephew or your nephew?” Steve jokes, then quickly adds. “No wonder I’m his favourite uncle.”

“ _Rude_!” Bucky says sharply, and Steve cracks into laughter.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go get the decorations tomorrow.” He eventually agrees, it’s not like he can say no to his favourite kid, anyway. Bucky thanks him quickly before hanging up - Steve knows at once that his boss had probably caught him on the phone again. Amused, Steve merely chuckles, pocketing his phone and resuming his way towards his art studio.

* * *

Natasha comes home after her overtime to find Melinda watching TV in her living room, not at all surprised to see her aunt perched comfortably on her couch without a care for the world. Ever since she’d given her an extra key, Melinda had decided to pop in once every two weeks unannounced; Natasha is strangely comforted by that, coming home to someone waiting for her unexpectedly and greeting her has been something she’d missed for some time now. 

“Have you eaten?” Melinda asks, to which Natasha shakes her head. Her aunt grins, gesturing at her kitchen. “Great, because I cooked something earlier.”

“You’re a life saviour, do you know that?” 

“Of course.” Melinda replies smugly, then turns back to the TV. “I also bought you some oranges.” Natasha spots the lone grocery bag on her table. “You should eat more oranges if you want to live longer. Vitamin C is good for your health.” 

Natasha chuckles, taking the oranges out from the bag. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Well, someone’s got to keep you alive.” Melinda says with a wave of her hand in the air. “Which reminds me, your godfather asked for your kind presence this Sunday at you two’s usual hangout spot.”

Her face lights up naturally. “He’s back?”

“Yes, and his exact message that he wants me to pass to you is _be there or be square._ ” Melinda winces jokingly. “I honestly don’t know where he is picking up all these lingos. I told him to call you personally but he said since I’m meeting you tonight...I guess my role is reduced to being a messenger now.”

“Not true, I still need you to keep me alive.” Natasha counters easily, throwing back her own words at her aunt. She then adds, “Love you, Melinda.”

“Stop being sappy and go eat your dinner before it gets cold.” Melinda turns to look at Natasha briefly, face adorned with a smile.

“Aye aye, ma’am.” Natasha pretends to salute before heading for the kitchen.

“What is up with people calling me ma’am today?” Melinda mutters under her breath, then turns her attention back to the soap drama in front of her.

* * *

With Maria busy hanging out with Sam, Natasha finds herself in a flea market with Pepper and Morgan the next day. She’d stuck with them for some time before Pepper and Morgan got engrossed in an antique stall, and Natasha, not knowing what to do while waiting for the mother and daughter duo, decides to venture to a stall nearby selling secondhand books.

She browses through the titles slowly, looking at each book carefully until her eyes land on a worn out copy of Sir Walter Scott’s the Lady of the Lake, a somewhat distant memory entering her mindright away — she remembers how much Steve loved this poem.

“Ah, that’s a well loved copy of the Lady of the Lake, young lady.” The stall owner interrupts her thoughts, his eyes sparkling with warmth. It takes Natasha a few seconds to gather her thoughts to reply, “Really?”

The owner nods. “You can tell just by looking at the condition of the book. It’s been read lots of times.”

Natasha finds herself smiling, then she decides to ask. “Do you know the owner of the book?”

“Oh, no.” The owner shakes his head. “Books are always sent to my stall every now and then from other secondhand centres. I don’t know where they come from, usually. Have you read that poem before?”

Natasha nods slowly. “A long time ago, yes. How much is this?”

“All for only a dollar, young lady.”

Natasha contemplates for a few seconds, but knows deep down in her heart that the moment her eyes landed on the book, she already knows she wants this. She nods, reaching for her purse. “I’ll take this please.”

As she pays for it, Natasha is tackled by an enthusiastic Morgan who’d thrown her arms around Natasha’s legs. “Auntie Nat, guess what?”

“What?” Natasha asks gently, instinctively putting her hand on the back of Morgan’s head. Pepper shrugs with a smile when her eyes meet Natasha’s curious gaze.

“Mommy says we can go to Central Park later!” Morgan almost lets out a squeal, finally releasing her grip around Natasha to clap her hands a few times together.

“Oh, really?” Natasha quirks an eyebrow up. “Why do you want to go there?”

“Daddy says there’s a beautiful angel statue there!” Morgan replies excitedly, “I want to see the angel! You’d come too, right?”

Natasha knows at once which statue she is talking about; the Angel of the Waters. The reminder of Bethesda Terrace and Fountain sets off a feeling she’d quite forgotten within her, the book that she just bought suddenly weighing heavier in her hands. If Pepper sees the way Natasha had tensed up ever so slightly, she doesn’t show it.

“Okay, _malyutka._ ” Natasha just nods with a smile—it’s impossible to say no to her favourite girl, anyway. “We’ll go there later.” 

* * *

As promised that he would help Bucky out, Steve heads for a nearby supermarket to get the decorations for George’s birthday party. He had loaded his trolley with a few varieties, pushing it slowly from aisle to aisle when he hears a familiar voice he hasn’t heard in a long time.

“My, my, if it isn’t Steve Rogers.”

Steve whips his head towards the direction of the voice, his face breaking into a slight grin when he sees who it is standing behind him. It’s a face he hasn’t seen in years. “Fury? Wow, it’s been ages.”

“Three years to be exact.” Fury replies with a straight face, edging closer to the younger man. “What are you up to lately?”

“I just came back to New York, I was working in London for about two years. Art stuff.” Steve says casually, the smile still on his face.

“I take it that all’s well for you?” Fury asks, tilting his head to the side. Steve nods.

“I got lucky.” He humbly says, not going into the specifics; it’s still a little weird telling people that his artworks are finally selling and displayed in two galleries. “What about you, Captain?”

Fury shakes his head hearing his past title. “I’m starting to get used to life after retirement, I guess.”

“Bet you miss your job.” Steve teases, knowing how much Fury loved being the Commanding Officer of his precinct. That was how they met, anyway, in a rather unexpected encounter five years ago that somehow ended with them keeping in touch with each other. Steve had been a bystander to a snatch theft incident; having seen what has happened, Fury had asked him to become a witness for the prosecution. Their relationship could have ended right after the court hearing, but they’d bumped into each other a week after in a coffee shop, and somehow, one way or another, they’ve decided to keep in touch, becoming acquaintances and meeting up for meals from time to time. It was also when Fury found out Steve had broken up with Peggy did he attempt to set him up on a date that didn’t materialise - Steve had politely declined, stating he wasn’t ready yet.

“I do, but life goes on.” Fury says without hesitation. “You know, I still owe you coffee.”

Steve laughs, it has been four years but trust Fury to still remember the coffee he’d promised to buy him but never got the opportunity to after his reassignment to Washington D.C. “I’d love to take up your offer, but I have a meeting with some art directors in an hour.”

Fury shrugs nonchalantly. “You do what you need to do then, Rogers.”

“Perhaps next time? I’ll buy you lunch instead. ” Steve offers, reaching for his phone. “I’ve changed my number because of London, but is yours still the same?” 

“Yes, it is.” Fury replies then raises one eyebrow. “So you were in London for two years?”

“I’ve just texted you with my new number.” Steve says before nodding. “And yes, I was offered a job in the Carter Gallery-”

The second that comes out from his mouth, Steve sees the look of misunderstanding that crosses Fury’s face. He shakes his hands quickly. “No, no, nothing like that. I mean yes, I was offered the contract because of Peggy but it wasn’t...she’d just gotten married actually.”

Fury’s features soften just a little, though not enough for Steve to know what is going through his head. He never did, anyway. Fury doesn’t ask him how he is feeling, but Steve knows he is thinking about it so he answers on his behalf, “I’m fine, Fury. I’ve moved on a long time ago.”

“Good.” Fury nods his head in approval then gestures with his good eye towards Steve’s trolley filled with George’s party items. “Is that an implication that you’re married with kids now?” 

Steve nearly lets out a roar of laughter, especially since Fury said it with his usual stoic, straight face. He is quick to shake his head. “If I did, I would have invited you to the wedding. These are for Bucky’s nephew’s birthday party this weekend.”

“Who knows.” Fury merely shrugs, a small smile finally on his face. He crosses his arms. “If it’s happening any time soon, you best believe I’ll be there.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that,” Steve forces a smile, “I’m not even seeing anyone at the moment.”

Fury gives him a look of disbelief that nearly causes him to flinch in reflex — Fury could be unintentionally formidable if he wants to. 

“I’ve been busy with work.” Steve attempts to explain, though he knows it’s a terrible one and Fury wouldn’t buy that excuse. He’s right, because Fury shakes his head again in mock disappointment. “Kids these days…”

Steve’s phone rings at that moment, and he excuses himself to answer it. It’s a call from the gallery to confirm some details over his art exhibition, and by the time he is done, Fury is already preparing to leave. “Keep in touch, will you?” The older man simply says before clamping one hand over his shoulder. Steve nods, and Fury leaves after that without looking back.

* * *

“So you’re the man who stole my best friend’s heart.”

Natasha says with an all knowing smirk the moment she slides into the empty seat across her best friend and the man sitting beside him. She flings her handbag to the side just in time to see Maria groaning, her face in her hands in embarrassment. “Sam, meet Natasha.” She announces grudgingly, already half regretting for inviting Natasha for lunch today. 

Sam juts his hand out, to which Natasha accepts with a beaming smile. “Lovely to finally meet you, Sam. I’ve heard _so_ much about you.” 

Maria lets out another groan, this time with a shake of her head. Sam laughs nervously, “I hope they’re good things.”

“Oh yes, they are.” Natasha says with a chuckle. “It’s just that, with Maria, who’s always so picky over who she dates-”

“Hey, I am not-”

Natasha ignores her best friend, a grin plastered on her face as she looks at Sam’s bemused face. “-you can tell a lot about the man she’s seeing just by the way she talks about him. Well in this case, you.”

Sam is blushing slightly now, signalling for the waitress to take their orders. Once they’ve ordered, Natasha wastes no second to interrogate him. “Okay since we only have an hour, so, Sam, I heard you’re a nurse?” 

He nods. “Have been for almost ten years. Maria told me you’re working for Stark Industries?”

“Yup. Pepper, the lady boss and also our other girlfriend, would have joined us for lunch today, but she’s stuck in a meeting with the higher ups.” Natasha explains, glancing at Maria to gauge her reaction. “Both of us have been _dying_ to meet you.”

Maria’s blushing now, but she keeps mum as she exchanges a quick glance with Sam. “I tried to hide you for as long as I could, but they caught on early.” Maria jokes, and the three of them laugh. 

“Well, I haven’t had the chance to tell my best friends.” Sam says sheepishly. 

“You should, so that they can have their fair share of teasing Maria.” Natasha smirks and Maria kicks her under the table lightly. “Just like what you’re doing to Sam now, huh?” 

“Hey, that’s what best friends are for.” She retorts cleanly just as the waitress arrives with their food. There’s silence for a few minutes as they dig into their meals, Sam being the one who breaks the quietness after that. “So, Natasha, anything of Maria that I should know of?”

“She cries when she’s drunk.” Natasha shares a piece of information about her best friend that absolutely terrifies Maria, and Natasha’s face splits into a huge grin as she suppresses the laughter down her throat. Sam looks amused, more than anything. “Really? She doesn’t look like someone who cries easily.”

“Hence why it only happens when she’s drunk.” 

“Oh my god I swear, you’re so evil-”

“Just warning Sam so he knows what he’s getting into.” 

“Well, at least I don’t _bite_ people when I’m drunk.”

It’s Natasha’s turn to narrow her eyes, her face blushing in mock horror. “That was _one_ time, Maria. _One._ Plus that jerk was asking for it!”

Her handphone buzzes just then, and Natasha peers at it slightly to see Pepper’s name on screen. On instinct, she reaches for her phone and unlocks it to read the message. “Oh shoot, I’ve been summoned by Pepper.” Her face scrunches apologetically, it’s only been thirty minutes since she’d arrived, but she’s already reaching for her handbag, her remaining lunch forgotten. “I’m really sorry, Sam. It’s for Tony’s latest project and everyone’s a little tied up lately in the department.”

“No big deal, I’ll be around anyway.” Sam replies with ease. Maria doesn’t react to that, only giving her best friend a wave, clearly a little relief that Natasha is leaving before she could reveal more of her secrets to Sam. The redhead takes out her bills and places it on the table before scooting out from her seat. “I’ll see you next time, Sam.” Then she turns to Maria, “And you, young lady, ladies night on Friday at my place.”

Maria simply nods, and Natasha is off on her way. 

“Hmm,” A few seconds after she exits the restaurant, Maria catches Sam frowning, something is clearly bothering him but Sam couldn’t seem to place a finger on why he is feeling this way. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks a little too sharply, feeling protective of Natasha in an instant just in case Sam is about to say something negative about her best friend. Sam doesn’t, instead, he shrugs. “I feel like Natasha is familiar, like I somehow know her.”

Maria knits her eyebrows together, a little surprised to hear that. “Really?”

“Yeah, but this is my first time ever meeting her so it’s probably nothing.”

“Maybe you saw her in the hospital, she was around a lot.” Maria gives a suggestion, going back to her unfinished meal - she needs to be back to her precinct soon, anyway. 

Sam frowns, but accepts the explanation. He smooths the creases on his forehead to give Maria a smile. “Yeah,” He finally says, even if he is still a little unsure. “I suppose you’re right.”

* * *

Natasha is frantically doing a last minute cleaning before Pepper and Maria arrive for their weekly ladies night, when Liho contributes to the mess by knocking over the few books on her coffee table.

“Liho!” Natasha chides immediately, then groans at the scattered books on the floor - but the cat is already gone. Sighing, she kneels to pick the books up, arranging them neatly back onto her coffee table. Her hand hovers over the worn out copy of The Lady of the Lake she bought last weekend. The book is spread face down at the last few pages, and when Natasha lifts the book and flips the pages, her eyes widened in surprise; she sees initials of the previous owner written on the bottom left of the last page she’d clearly missed while she was browsing the book for the first time the other day.

It takes her a few seconds to register the initials, to deduce the possibility; _S.G.R._ She feels her heart thumping hard and fast beneath her chest, the room suddenly spinning, her hands begin to tremble. Natasha nearly forgets how to breathe.

* * *

It’s a little after a week of encountering Fury by chance when Steve receives an unexpected call from him one evening. 

“Fury?” He answers after the first three rings.

“Rogers.” Fury greets back in his usual stoic tone. “Good evening.”

“Good evening.” Steve returns, then raises an eyebrow. Fury hardly ever calls, always opting to text instead, so he’s not exactly used to this sudden change. For a second there, he’s worried that something has happened to him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, never better.” Fury replies curtly, then wastes no further second before going straight to his point. “Listen.” He begins, and Steve listens on quietly. “Remember when I tried to set you up on a date years ago and you declined? What are your thoughts on giving it a try again?”

This is the absolute _last_ thing that Steve had expected to come out from Fury’s mouth, especially since he’d just met him again. He fights the slight nerves rising within him, forcefully swallowing the lump forming in his throat. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m just trying to help a friend.” Fury replies without missing a beat. “What if you grow old alone?”

Steve couldn’t help but let out a chuckle then. It is entirely unexpected for Fury to even care that much about him, let alone worry about his uncertain future. It’s been years but Fury still surprises him sometimes. “I appreciate the thought, Fury, really I do.”

“But? You have someone in your mind already?” 

“Sort of.” Steve admits softly, thinking of a certain redhead in an instant. 

“Are you two together now?” Fury asks, and the effect is immediate; Steve’s heart starts to sink, knowing he couldn’t bring himself to lie. When he stays silent, Fury continues, “It’s up to you Rogers, but there’s no harm in giving this a chance. If it works out, it works out, if it doesn’t, so be it.”

There’s a simple logic to Fury’s explanation, one that Steve thinks is true. He pauses for a few more seconds before he nods once. “Alright, I guess there’s no harm in it.”

“Well, good.” Fury’s tone doesn’t change even though Steve has agreed to this unexpected set up. “because I went ahead and book the restaurant for the both of you.” 

Steve fights another urge to smile, that’s another thing to add into his list of Fury surprising him. “Okay.” He settles for a simple response.

“I’ll text you the details later, but it’s this Saturday. The table is reserved under my name, do you have any idea how difficult it was getting a reservation in that restaurant? If it isn’t because I know the chef—” 

“Wait, what even is her name?” Steve remembers Fury has never mentioned the name of the woman he’s supposed to meet, but just as he asked the question, he hears that Fury isn’t even listening to him - if the sound of him yelling at someone in the background is any indication. Fury comes back two seconds later, his voice a haste, “I gotta go. You better be there, Rogers! She’s someone important to me so you’d better not bail on her, I’m warning you!” 

Steve merely chuckles. “Yes, Captain.”

* * *

On their date on Saturday, Sam surprises Maria on an impulse decision to bring her to the Carter Gallery, silently praying that the latter would be interested in seeing arts and paintings. It is only upon their arrival that Maria realises where Sam had taken her, and her first reaction is to cast a side-way glance at her boyfriend (yes, boyfriend - she hasn’t told Natasha or Pepper yet, though).

“I didn’t know you are an art person.” She says at the entrance after Sam pays for the admission fees.

“Oh, no, I can’t do art to save my life.” Sam laughs, and they both walk into one of the wings in the gallery. “I’m here to support my best friend, actually.”

“Your best friend is an artist?” Maria raises an eyebrow quizzically as Sam nods. “Oh yes, he was noticed last two years when he went to London, and then they started expanding his artworks to New York…” His sentence trails off, Sam clearly busy looking at the map and trying to figure out where Steve’s section is. “Sorry, I’m a horrible friend. I haven’t had the time to visit the gallery even though his paintings were already up since months ago. All I did was buy the art magazine he was featured in and--oh wait, here it is.”

Sam goes ahead into one of the sections of the gallery, stopping to wait for Maria. When Maria sees the frames on the wall, she becomes instantly impressed. “Your best friend is really talented.”

“Yeah, Steve definitely is.” Sam agrees. “Bucky and I have always told him he’d make it big one day, but he never believed us. Until London happened.”

_Bucky?_ Something stirs within Maria instantaneously; it’s a uncommon nickname, after all, and the only time she’s ever heard of someone having that nickname was when… 

She becomes silent just then, hundreds of uncertain, confused thoughts rushing through her mind. “Sam? Did you just say his name is Steve?” Maria eventually finds her voice to ask. No sooner did she ask the question that Maria finds the answer she seeks when her eyes catch the artist signboard by the side. 

“Yes. Steve Rogers.” Sam’s reply comes soon after.

Right at that moment, Maria’s jaw drops, because her eyes have now landed on a portrait painting that is all too familiar to her; _her_ best friend - it is nearly _impossible_ to miss when her red hair stands out so much amongst the rest of Steve’s paintings. She ignores Sam’s confused look, making her way quickly towards the painting without hesitation. She stares at it continuously, completely dumbfounded, wondering if she is seeing things or if this is _actually_ real. It is only when she hears Sam gasping beside her, that she knows he is completely aware of what is happening. Which can only mean one thing, Maria deduces in her head quickly; Sam _knows_ about Natasha, at least, through the stories Steve had probably told him.

“ _Wait_ a minute, are you telling me-” Sam’s eyes are as wide as saucers, realisation finally sinking in. 

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, _yes_.” Maria quickly replies, her eyes unable to leave Natasha’s portrait, especially not after reading the description. Her heart is racing so quickly that there is a rush of blood to her head.

“Why didn’t you tell me Natasha’s surname is Romanoff?” Sam asks a little too sharply, his heart begins to pound - so many thoughts are running through his head - so many questions he wants answered.

“You _never_ asked.” Maria says with a roll of her eyes, though she continues hastily, “Sam? This is really important - is Steve in New York at this moment?”

Sam nods quickly. “Yeah, he is, he just came back a month ago.”

Maria doesn’t hesitate to ask a follow up question, “Will he be here for a long time?”

“He told me he’ll be here for good.” Sam’s answer is enough to break the tension Maria had been feeling, a grin splitting across her face - she is literally smiling from ear to ear. “Maria, what-”

“Another question,” Maria interjects quickly, her heart already soaring at the possibility of her best friend _finally_ being able to meet Steve, “Does he still remembers Natasha?”

Sam darts a glance at the portrait painting of her, as if to say that there is no greater evidence to answer Maria’s question than the painting in front of both of them. “Of course.”

“Does he still…” Maria tries to find the word carefully. “...think about her?”

“He didn’t mention her much to us ever since he left for London.” Sam starts to explain, finally catching on to the situation. He is sporting a grin similar to his girlfriend’s. “But both Bucky and I know that he’s pretty much still in love with her. It’s been two years but he hasn’t found anyone else yet.”

“Oh my god...” Maria breathes out, placing one hand on Sam’s arm, but doesn’t continue her sentence, hundreds of thoughts, ideas and plans flooding into her mind like a tidal wave.

“Maria, what about Natasha?” It is Sam’s turn to ask, his voice urgent. “Is she...does she…”

“Yes.” Maria doesn’t even hesitate, her tone firm and certain. She recalls last night when she and Pepper had arrived at Natasha’s house, the host was dazed and clearly lost in her own thoughts, nothing had really registered in her mind even though she and Pepper had tried to get a reaction out of her. It was only when Natasha flipped to the last page of a worn out poetry book that Pepper recognised, pointed at the initials on it, that it struck both of them on why their best friend was suddenly acting so strangely. Natasha had then proceeded to tell them that she’d seen Steve from afar by pure chance, and the look on her face was evident, as clear as the sky, that she was not over him, that she was still very much in love with him. “ _Every_ single day.”

“Then we need to help them.” Sam wastes no second, already pulling out his phone. “You call Natasha, and I’ll call Steve.”

“Roger that.” Maria says immediately.

* * *

Steve feels oddly at ease as he enters the restaurant Fury had texted him about. He arrives 30 minutes earlier, the waiter showing him to his seat. As he sits down and prepares himself for this blind date, Steve’s thoughts begin to wander, treading dangerously on the thoughts he’d kept locked within the deepest recesses of his mind. A ghost of a smile on his lips as he recalls the many letters he had written to Natasha, and the replies he had received in return. He recalls how he had kept all those letters in a box and sealed it so that he wouldn’t go looking for them. He wonders how she is at this moment, if she ever did eventually dance again, wonders about Liho - he hasn’t seen that black feline in _years_ , does she still remember him? He thinks of the map-date he’d constructed just for her, thinks of the notes he had written so that she wouldn’t feel like she was alone on that date. 

Steve thinks of the sudden surge of inspiration when he stared at the blank canvas in London on a lonely evening. He allowed his heart to do most of the painting that evening, each stroke carefully painted from the memories of the photograph she had sent him - the only picture he has of her. He made that his work in progress, painting Natasha’s portrait slowly and holding onto the only memory he has left of her with utmost care and adoration. It took him almost a month to complete the painting, and the second he showed it to Peggy, she’d told him this was something he should definitely put up in Carter Gallery. Steve still remembers the knowing look on Peggy’s face, the soft, heartfelt realisation of how much this lady in the portrait meant to him. She never pried, though. The painting was put up in the London branch for a few months before Peggy decided that it should go back to where it truly belonged - New York. Steve didn’t even ask her how she knew.

His phone rings just then, and Steve is jerked out of his reverie, eyebrows knitted together when he sees Sam’s name and face staring back at him. He answers the call. “Hey, what’s up?” 

“Steve, you’re never going to believe what I am about to tell you!” Sam’s voice is strained with excitement, as if he is trying to keep his voice low even though he is about to burst into a yell.

“What—” 

“ _Natasha Romanoff_.” is all Sam says and instantly, Steve becomes quiet. “I know her. I’ve _met_ her!”

For a spur of the moment, Steve feels a little irritated; first Sharon, now Sam - is the entire world going to meet Natasha before him? “Sam—”

“Listen to me. I’m seeing her best friend, Maria, at the moment. I just found out she’s the lakehouse girl, Steve! Oh god, this is killing me, you showed me her photograph once, remember? I thought she looked really familiar but I couldn’t connect the dots. Her name is _right_ there, too.”

Steve tries his level best to process Sam’s words properly, and it is then that he sees the waiter bringing a woman to his table. The woman is on her phone too, a look of pure confusion on her face. Suddenly, Steve’s mind becomes blank.

“Steve? Are you there? Damn the line here, did you hear what I said?” 

Then, their eyes meet. In an instant, Steve feels like someone just punched all the air out of his stomach, “Sam?” He says, almost breathless, eyes never leaving hers. “I gotta _go._ ” 

A word floats into his mind. Not a word, but a name. _Natasha._

Steve stands in reflex, completely mesmerised. Just like that, the world starts to fade away into a noiseless background. Time begins to slow down. He takes in her appearance; her hair is longer now, but still the fiery red he fondly remembers. Her eyes an even clearer shade of green from her picture as she steps closer to him, her lips full and red. Steve feels his heart lurching onto his throat; he is suddenly unable to speak, to react even when she stops right in front of him, her eyes wide, her expression a clear mirror of his. 

“Hi.” Natasha is the first to break the silence, her voice almost inaudible. She wants to say more, Steve could see that, but nothing else is coming out from her. She’s looking at him, dazed and confused, as if she couldn’t believe what she is seeing.

Steve feels himself smiling on instinct, feels the butterflies fluttering into his stomach slowly but surely. “Hi,” He returns, his voice equally small and measured, but he manages to add, “ _Nat_.”

Instantly, she feels tears pricking her eyes, but she doesn’t blink - not wanting Steve to remember their first meeting being her breaking into sobs even though her chest is constricting, her vision slowly shrouding with tears. She’s staring straight into Steve’s eyes, letting herself fall into their sea of blue, his piercing gaze, her heart surprisingly calm. Natasha is silently searching for any hints which might tell her she’s dreaming, because how could this possibly be real, how could they possibly be standing in front of each other right at this moment — if this is a dream, she doesn’t want to wake up from it. 

“Is this…” She wills herself to speak again, “is this really happening?”

A lone tear trickles down her cheek, but Natasha forces herself to stay put, her eyes still locked on his. She expels the breath she doesn’t even know she is holding when Steve reaches forward to wipe her tears away. “It is.” His reply is curt, but Natasha could sense the intensity of his words, the warmth behind those two syllables. “This is really happening, Nat.”

“I saw your paintings, Steve,” She stammers, face finally breaking into a smile. She finally blinks, letting the tears cascade down her face naturally. “They’re _beautiful_.”

“I had beautiful inspirations.” Steve replies without a pause, knowing that she would understand the implication behind his words — and she does, if the way her face gradually blooms red is any indication. 

He cups her face gently, his thumbs caressing her tear-stained cheeks. He is holding her so carefully, as though she’s fragile, a glass that could break beneath his touch. That even if he’d just told her this is really happening, part of him is still afraid that this is all just a figment of his imagination — that at any second now, this image in front of him would cease to exist. But when Natasha leans into his touch, her cheek fitting into his palm perfectly, when she finally expels a softsigh — that is then that Steve is certain; Natasha Romanoff, the woman he’d corresponded with for a year through letters, the woman he’d grown to cherish and love, is really, and finally, standing in front of him; they’re finally in the same timeline together, their paths had finally intersected.

There’s a thought that flutters into his mind then, and Steve starts to shake his head in disbelief. He lets out a small chuckle. Natasha gives him a look of confusion, which prompts him to explain, “Years ago, Fury wanted to introduce me to someone who he told me was important to him.”

Natasha’s expression changes from confusion to recognition of a past, fleeting memory, then she raises her eyebrows in realisation. “ _No_ way.”

Steve nods, unable to contain his amusement about their entire ordeal. “It didn’t feel right then so I declined. Did he…”

“He tried to.” It is Natasha’s turn to chuckle, this entire situation almost incomprehensible. “Said it was a nice man that he knew. I said no, too. That man was _you_?”

“The universe really loves toying with us, huh?” Steve whispers. 

“I saw you the other day.” Natasha starts again, her voice tainted with the sobs she’d tried so hard to force down. Steve’s eyes widen slightly. “I was on the train, you were outside. You walked _past_ me, Steve.”

Steve shakes his head. “I had no idea. I met Sharon when I flew back to New York and she told me you came by the museum and saw the painting.”

Natasha’s features soften once again, remembering her first reaction to the portrait painting of her. Steve continues, “Bucky was frustrated with me, because I didn’t want to contact you even after knowing you are working in Stark Industries.”

She smiles. “I can relate to that. Maria wanted me to get Tony Stark to track you down — it would be an easy task for him. I didn’t want to, either. It just doesn’t feel right, for some reason.”

Steve agrees with a nod, his eyes crinkle with tenderness. “And this feels right?”

“Absolutely.” Natasha says without a doubt, her tone certain, like every memory they’d shared with each other were meant to lead to this very moment. “Nothing is more magical than this.”

“Well, our best friends _are_ dating each other.” Steve stifles a laugh, remembering what Sam had just told him over the phone. It truly hasn’t quite sunk in his head yet; the entire situation is funny even in his mind; the thought of his best friend actually dating Natasha’s best friend — it is almost comical, almost unreal. 

From the looks Natasha is giving him, it is evident that she feels the same way. “I can’t believe Sam is _your_ best friend Sam. Did you know I met him?”

“I was told over the phone just now.” Steve replies. “Sam called me saying he found out your surname and that you’re the lakehouse girl.”

“Maria called me to tell me the same thing about you, too.” Natasha chuckles, shaking her head. “We’re lucky to have them.”

Steve nods in agreement, and silence stretches between them comfortably; both still gazing into each other’s eyes, completely lost in their own world. They think about all the time they’ve lost waiting, hoping, think about every letter they’ve exchanged - all those moments which had fatefully led them to each other. It feels almost _surreal,_ as though this is a dream.

“Nat?” Steve is the one who starts speaking again.

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Natasha cannot hide the grin that is spreading across her face as she steps closer to him, her hands now cupping his face. “Yes. God, a thousand times _yes_.”

It took both of them such a long time to meet each other. Missed timing and opportunities, an intervention by fate that brought them together yet pulled them apart simultaneously. But as Natasha tiptoes and pulls him towards her, they finally, _finally_ , meet halfway.

* * *

_**end of part iv** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, my dear readers, is how we’ve come a full circle for this fic. ;-; 
> 
> Okay trust me when I said that as I was writing this chapter, I was literally terrified you guys are going to be so annoyed with it lmao. I thought I should explain; the premise to write this fic was really based on fate; what is meant to be, will be, and the importance of timing. Part III is focused very much on timing (them not being able to meet each other yet) while this Part, on the fate aspect. An example would be the train scene; if Nat hadn’t woken up late that morning she wouldn’t have gotten to the train late and missed the 7.45 train. If she’d gotten on that 7.45 train, she wouldn’t have been able to catch a glimpse of 2020 Steve and knowing that finally, they’re in the same timeline together.
> 
> For those who have watched The Lake House movie, you would know that I didn’t include a major element from it, which is (SPOILERS FOR THOSE WHO HAVEN’T SEEN THE MOVIE!) how the male protagonist was supposed to die just before the two mains started corresponding with each other. I didn’t want to do that because well, I didn’t want to just blindly follow the movie, plus that part of the movie actually invited plot holes that I couldn’t shake off. Hence. 
> 
> Some explanations for those who are curious to know my thought process while writing this fic;
> 
> The reason why Steve and Natasha only met in 2020 was simply because they weren’t supposed to have met any other time before that. (Which you can see, from all the attempts they tried). But from the beginning, they were already _meant_ to be. If you realised, at the first chapter, I wrote how Bucky told Steve that if he’d accepted Fury’s attempt to set him up with someone, he wouldn’t be alone during Christmas. Then at the end of Part IV, you would have noticed that the woman Fury wanted to set him up with was _all along_ Natasha. You may be wondering, what if Steve had gone for that blind date? What would have happened? Well, the simplest answer is; they wouldn’t have worked out, then. Why? Because a) they have unresolved issues ongoing in their lives, b) they weren’t ready yet, c) their timing was simply not right.
> 
> So why did I have them indirectly communicating with each other if they weren’t meant to have met then?
> 
> It’s mostly to help each other get over the issues of their hearts. It all started from a simple parallel situation; Natasha moves out from the lakehouse on Dec 2018, just as Steve moves in, on Dec 2016. Both, on the same date; 23rd December. (Also why the mailbox started acting as a portal to both timelines.) 
> 
> Both of them also had their issues to settle; Steve in the beginning of 2017 still had lingering feelings over Peggy, but his main problem was that unresolved issue with his father. After Nat sent him his father’s autobiography, he finally learned to let go - both his issues with his father, and Peggy. That was when he slowly started falling for Nat.
> 
> Nat on the other hand, had major scars from the Red Room (hah) and Madame B. Dancing is part of her identity but because of the pain from her past, she could no longer do it. So after speaking with Steve, he told her that one day in the future, if she found a new purpose to dance again, then she should do it. That was how when Nat saw Morgan learning ballet, it gave her that urge to pick up dancing again. 
> 
> But anyway, I digress. I would like to thank everyone who took their time to read this fic and comment on it, your words mean everything to me, who's constantly doubting her writing. So thank you for every kudo, every comment that you have given me, I truly, from the bottom of my heart, appreciate each and every one of them.
> 
> There will be an epilogue and after that, this fic will come to an end. It was truly a joy to write this, and I can say for sure that this fic turned out to be one of my favourite writings ever. I'll update the epilogue probably a week later as I'm busy these few days!
> 
> P/S: the titles for each chapter are taken from Christina Perri's The Words, one of the songs which inspired me to write this fic.


	5. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of love, pure bliss and a happily ever after.

When Bucky meets Natasha for the first time, it is a happy reunion of two long lost best friends, regardless of the fact that they’ve never actually met before, only knowing each other through stories told by Steve. Bucky envelopes her into a warm, bear hug the second their eyes met, lifting her up easily and twirling her around once. Natasha's laughter echoes around the four walls of the lakehouse while Steve looks on in pure amusement, a smile gracing his lips naturally. 

“I honestly thought this day would never come!” Bucky says after he puts her back onto the ground, an ear splitting grin on his face. “You have no idea how frustrated I was with Steve not wanting to just drop everything and rush over to meet you.”

“I was told.” Natasha simply nods, still smiling. “I’ve heard so many things about you, James.”

“Aw man,” Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re practically family. You can call me Bucky, too.”

Natasha blushes ever so slightly, then corrects herself, “Bucky." 

On cue, his grin turns wider. “God, I can’t believe…” Bucky says after that, his features softening, “I can’t believe you’re here, you’re actually real. That you’re not just some woman from the future in letters.”

When Bucky looks at her, Natasha could see the warmth and familiarity in his eyes, how he had readily welcomed her into this new circle with arms outstretched widely. It almost feels surreal, but Natasha feels thankful, her heart light and happy. “I can’t believe it either.” She says, turning slightly to look at Steve.

Steve already has his eyes on her, so when their eyes meet, they smile in reflex. It is also then that Bucky lets out a controlled yelp, striding into the house, his attention now on the black cat lying comfortably on the floor. When Steve and Natasha turn around, Bucky is already cradling Liho in his arms, another huge grin sporting on his face. “Oh my _god_ ,” He exclaims excitedly. “Steve, is this Liho? Is this the cat I brought into this house and subsequently became Natasha’s?”

“She is.” Steve replies with a laugh, recalling the moment days ago when he stepped into Natasha’s apartment for the first time. Liho had jumped and clung onto him the second she saw him, clearly remembering him from her past. Natasha had looked on in pure amusement before shaking her head and whispering _traitor._ Steve had laughed.

“Have I mentioned how fascinating this is?” Bucky grins at Natasha, but doesn’t expect an answer. He is already standing, leaving Liho behind as he makes his way ceremoniously towards the backdoor. “I’m going to check out the lake, it’s been such a long time.”

Bucky makes it a few steps forward before he stops and turn around. “Hey, Natasha?”

Natasha whips her head towards him instantly. “Yes?”

For a few seconds, Bucky doesn’t say anything. He's darting a look between Steve and Natasha simultaneously, as if observing them, a smile gracing his face once again. Bucky wants to tell her just how glad he is to finally see her, for his best friend to finally meet her, but as he looks at her and meets her smile, Bucky has a gut feeling she knows. Eventually, he shakes his head, still smiling. “Nevermind.” 

* * *

The next guest that arrives is Melinda, her hands full with two huge bags of food she'd cooked for the small housewarming party that evening. Natasha is quick to assist with the bags, reaching for one just as Steve jogs over to the door. “Steve, this is my aunt Melinda.” She introduces right at the same time where Steve reaches out to take the other bag from Melinda. “Nat has told me so much about you.” He politely smiles, then introduces himself. "I’m Steve.” 

When Melinda looks at him, Steve does a double take in both confusion and realisation, a faint memory flitting across his mind. He is a little bit uncertain until he sees that Melinda is mirroring his expression, an eyebrow quirked as she opens her mouth to ask, “Hi Steve. Have I met you before?”

That’s the second that causes Steve to let out a low laugh; this game of fate is truly on another level, he thinks to himself as he gives Melinda a nod of confirmation. “Yes, if I recall correctly…” Steve rubs the nape of his neck sheepishly. “I accidentally knocked over your bag of oranges before.”

Upon hearing that, Natasha knits her eyebrows together, darting a glance back and forth between Melinda and Steve. “ _What?_ ” She asks in disbelief.

There’s a look of recognition crossing Melinda’s face now as she recalls the fateful incident some time back. She beams at Steve in pure amusement, smiling at the distant but rather clear memory in her mind. “Oh yes, now I remember. What a fateful encounter.”

“Did you just happen to meet _everyone_ around me before meeting me?” Natasha inquires, her face drawn up in an amused smile. Steve shrugs, returning the smile easily. “I could say the same thing about you.”

“Am I missing something here?” Melinda raises an eyebrow, not understanding the exchange between Natasha and Steve, clearly something that is privy to only the both of them. All she knows is that this is the man Natasha had told her about before, the one who was _staying a few states away—_ that was all she told her, anyway. When Natasha informed her that he’d returned, that he is back for good this time, Melinda had been thrilled for her—the joy on Natasha’s face is enough for Melinda to know just how much Steve means to her;she wasn’t the least surprised when Natasha called her a few days after to tell her that she was moving back to the lakehouse, this time, with him.

“Nothing.” Natasha chimes in quickly with a shake of her head, fighting the urge to laugh. “Nothing at all. Melinda, do you want to check out the house? I’ll bring you around.”

As though he’d read her mind, Steve is already taking the other bag from Natasha’s hand, giving her an opportunity to loop an arm around Melinda’s. They exchange a playful look with each other before Natasha starts to pull Melinda away from the front door. “Thanks, Steve!” She says in a singsong voice and winks at his direction. Steve merely smiles as he watches their retreating backs. 

Melinda goes along with where Natasha is pulling her towards, though she is shaking her head. “Young lady, why are you so eager to separate me from your boyfriend?”

Natasha feels the flush of her cheeks immediately as she cautiously peeks behind her shoulder. She wonders if Steve heard Melinda. They haven’t quite discussed this aspect of their relationship yet, unsure of what to call each other. But hearing it out loud, especially since it came from Melinda, does send butterflies scurrying into her stomach in an instant.

“I’m not trying to.” She answers easily. “I just thought you would want to see the house.”

“As if I haven't already the last time I was here.” Melinda counters, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Is there something wrong?”

“Quite the contrary, actually.” Natasha shakes her head, a genuine smile on her face. She waits until Melinda looks at her before she continues, “Everything’s just _perfect._ ”

This time, Melinda sees that Natasha's smile reaches her eyes.

* * *

Twenty minutes after, Sam and Maria appear at their front door carrying a housewarming gift, and the hugest smiles on their faces. 

Steve and Sam grin at once, exchanging a quick bump of their fists as Steve informs him that Bucky is already here and currently exploring the lake behind the lakehouse. Then, his attention turns to the woman beside his best friend, instantly knowing who she is.

“You must be Steve Rogers.” Maria juts a hand out for Steve to shake the second his eyes landed on her. She’s radiating excitement just from her expression alone, and Natasha couldn’t help but smile as she watches her best friend interact with Steve. “I’m Maria.” 

“I know.” Steve says and instantly feels the warmth radiating from the detective. He recalls Natasha’s initial letter to him, the one which reads that Maria had been the person who convinced her to respond to his letters—without her, none of this would have even happened. “How can I ever repay you for convincing _someone_ to write back to me?” He jokes lightly and hears Natasha snorting beside him. 

Maria snickers. “She just needs a little push sometimes to see the light. Nat can be really stubborn if she wants to.”

“Hey, I’m not—”

“I mean,” Maria ignores Natasha breezily, “she didn’t even believe me when I told her you two would grow to have a special bond with each other.” Then she finally glances at her best friend, eyes twinkling with tease. “Guess who's right after all?”

Natasha shakes her head, but doesn’t deny. Instead, she smiles and surrenders by throwing her hands dramatically in the air. “Okay, you’re right. You win. Are you happy now?”

Maria gives another ear splitting grin as she reaches forward to sling an arm around Natasha’s neck. Natasha laughs, pretending to shrug off Maria’s arm around her. Maria simply beams before saying. “Absolutely. Are you?”

Natasha meets Steve’s gaze, her features softening in an instance. “Never happier.” She answers firmly.

“Okay so, where should I put this?” Sam speaks up for the first time since he stepped into the lakehouse, still grinning as he exchanges a look with Steve. Maria untangles herself from her best friend and reaches for the gift in Sam's hands. "This is from the both of us.” She remarks just as Steve gestures to the living room. “Anywhere in the living room is fine, honestly.” He says with a grateful smile. 

“Okay.” Maria starts to move. “Oh right, before I forget. Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Nat bites people when she’s drunk.” Maria half cackles before flitting away in a speed of lightning and out of reach from Natasha who had let out a low screech; “ _Maria!_ ”

Sam is laughing loudly, his eyes meeting Natasha’s—the look on her face tells him that she’d seen this coming. He then tails his girlfriend wordlessly into the living room, leaving Natasha with one hand against her face, a weak attempt to shield the blush that is already creeping onto her cheeks. When Steve looks at her with an arched eyebrow of amusement, Natasha shakes her head and grunts. “It was _one_ time, I swear. That guy didn’t take the hints that I wasn’t interested.” 

Steve starts to laugh. “Feisty.”

Natasha shrugs with unabashed confidence. “I’m not apologising for who I am.”

Steve edges closer to her, his figure towering over hers effortlessly. Then he murmurs, voice soft with affection. “I didn’t say you should.” 

Natasha has to tilt her head up to look at Steve, her heart hammering at how close he suddenly is to her. He is giving her a lopsided sheepish smile, his eyes filled with obvious fondness from the way he is looking at her. “Nat,” He begins again, and she sees the way he is struggling to say something. She keeps her gaze on him, an underlying _go on_ , as she waits patiently for him to find his words. “I want to tell you that I—”

The doorbell rings before Steve could finish his sentence.

* * *

“I’ll be damned.” 

Fury says the second he sees his goddaughter standing closely beside Steve. There’s a look of amusement and disbelief that don’t go unnoticed in his face, and Natasha fights the urge to grin. “ _He_ is that guy Melinda said you couldn’t get over?”

She turns red in an instant.

“And you didn’t want to go on that date at first.” Fury exclaims with an obvious look of triumph on his face. He rarely smiles but this time, Natasha notices at once that Fury’s face is splitting into a grin. “Look at what fate did to you two!”

They share another knowing look with each other before Natasha speaks, “Oh, you have _no_ idea.”

Fury doesn’t inquire further, only shrugging as he steps into the house, his grin disappearing. “Rogers.” He greets Steve who’d gone awfully quiet, the latter somehow nervous to see Fury again, this time with the knowledge that he is Natasha's godfather. It boggles his mind how small the world is, or at least how _coincidental_ everything is—Steve mentally laughs.

“Fury.” Steve tips his head slightly, a smile naturally finding its way to his face even though his hands have gone all clammy with sweat. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“I’d say the same,” Fury says with controlled smile, “if not because I found out that my goddaughter had sleepless nights because of you.”

The effect is instantaneous; Steve’s jaw drops in horror while Natasha slaps a hand over her face in embarrassment as she groans. “ _Fury_.”

“What? Melinda told me. She was really worried about you, do you know that?” Fury retorts with ease, completely aware that Steve’s face is turning a ghostly white. “Fury, I—“ He stammers, but Natasha beats him to it.

“It wasn't his fault.” She says hotly, crossing her arms. “It was just…unavoidable circumstances.” She gives the best explanation possible without revealing too much.

But Fury waves his hand in the air, dismissing Natasha’s explanation. He turns to regard Steve again. “Rogers,”

“Yes, sir?” Steve responses with a timid voice, though he stands up straighter by impulse of Fury’s commanding voice.

“Natasha can be headstrong and sometimes even difficult to deal with—” Natasha groans loudly,knowing where Fury is going with his sentence. “—but if you so much as break her heart, I’ll—”

“That’s not going to happen, sir.” Steve assures without hesitation, finding the confidence slowly seeping into his bones; it’s easy, when he knows his words are true. “I can assure you that at the very least.”

Fury pauses for a few seconds, regarding his words properly and carefully. There's sincerity in Steve’s words, Fury could sense it, of knowing how he is as a person for years—he knows he could rely on Steve to make Natasha happy, so he eventually gives a curt nod of approval. “Good.” He doesn’t dwell on that topic anymore, instead turning to Natasha. “Has Melinda arrived?”

She nods and gestures to the living room. “Yes, she’s with Maria.”

Fury starts towards the direction Natasha had pointed. He makes it a few steps forward before turning to look over his shoulder. Then, with a slight smile, he simply says, “I’m really happy for the both of you.”

Natasha naturally finds Steve’s gaze, both beaming with obvious happiness. She laces her fingers around his in a perfect fit, her heart finally in the right place. 

* * *

The Starks are the last to arrive.

Pepper wraps Natasha in a tight, happy hug when she sees her, an out of the world smile plastered on her face. When she releases her, it is Morgan’s turn to throw herself into Natasha’s arms, giving Pepper the opportunity to glance at the man standing beside her best friend. The second she sees Steve, her entire face lights up even more, and Natasha is partially surprised to see Pepper on a sudden verge of tearing up. “Pep,” She asks, concern etched on her face, “are you okay?”

“I’m just really happy for you.” Pepper sniffs, quickly composing herself as she beams warmly at Steve. “Sorry, I’m Pepper. I’ve heard all about you. This is Morgan—” She gestures at the little girl now stuck against Natasha’s leg, her eyes wide as she stares at Steve for the first time. He gives her a little wave and a sweet smile. “—and Tony is…”

“Right here.” Tony appears out of nowhere as he removes his sunglasses and hangs it over his breast pocket. He focuses his attention around the interior of the lakehouse, not seeing an additional member beside Natasha and Pepper. “Wow, Red. Very cosy place you got here. I would love to have a house by the lake someday, too. A little cottage, perhaps, what say you, Pep?”

“Tony,” Natasha regards him with an amused smile while Pepper simply chuckles. “Meet Steve Rogers.”

Tony’s attention snaps back at the individuals in front of him, his eyes finally landing on the man beside Natasha. He juts out a hand politely which Steve accepts in equal regard. “Ah, Steve Rogers. A familiar name. Peggy Carter might have mentioned about your artworks to me before.”

If Steve is surprised to hear that Tony Stark knows who he is, more so that he is friends with Peggy, he doesn't show it. “Oh, how do you know her?” 

Tony begins to explain. “Her father and my father are acquaintances. I got in touch with her recently because of the charity event I’m hosting—wait, how did you meet Red? Was it because she went surveying in art galleries and museums? Did she meet you there?”

At once, Natasha, Steve and Pepper share a look amongst them, but it is Natasha who lets out a laugh first. “Oh, Tony, you wouldn’t want to know. It’s a long story.”

“If you say so.” Surprisingly, Tony accepts Natasha’s reply easily. But only because there’s curiosity building in him that he really wants to know, so he looks at Steve again. “So what is it about Red that you like?”

Natasha’s eyes widen just as Pepper sighs immediately. “ _Tony_ ,” She warns lightly, then exchanges a look of apology to her best friend. The latter merely shrugs, not at all upset over Tony’s harmless question—Natasha doesn’t want to admit that there’s a tiny part of her deep down that kind of, _sort of_ , wishes to know why, too.

“Well,” Steve is already looking at her even before she notices. There’s a look on his face that sends electricity straight to her heart, the way he is staring at her as though she is the only person in this room. Natasha blushes and casts her eyes onto the floor instead. “I like everything about her, truth be told.”

Tony grimaces, clearly unsatisfied with that answer. “So you don’t find her even remotely scary?”

“Tony.” Natasha heaves a sigh, not at all surprised to hear Tony say that. In fact, she'd expected a comment like this from him ever since Pepper told him she'd been seeing someone.

“What?” He retorts, though shrinking back slightly at the way Natasha is glaring at him. Tony is already backing into the hallway leading to the living room slowly. “I meant it as a _compliment._ You may be tiny but you can definitely hold your ground well, is what I'm saying. Sheesh, Red.”

“That’s one way to look at it, I suppose.” Natasha goes along with that, now smirking as she exchanges another look with Steve who is grinning. Pepper just laughs as she takes Morgan by the hand and proceeds to follow her husband. “Let’s go find Auntie Maria.” She tells the little girl, who bobs her head enthusiastically. 

“That’s everyone, right?” Steve asks after that, once silence envelopes them. 

“Yes.” Natasha nods, taking a step forward before halting in her step suddenly, as though something, a thought probably, just hit her without any warning. Steve stops beside her, slightly concerned. “What’s wrong?”

When she looks at him, Steve doesn’t miss the slight look of awe in her expression, the disbelief gaze that she keeps on him. There’s a soft smile on her lips, and Steve could only wonder what she is thinking at the moment. Natasha shakes her head gently. “Nothing. Just…I never thought this day would come. This house,” She waves her hands around in the air, still smiling before her eyes land on Steve's again. “Us,” Natasha continues, then finishes her sentence with a quick shake of her head. ”It’s silly, really.”

“It's not silly.” He promises, understanding her words at once. When Steve had brought up the suggestion of moving back into the lakehouse together in a passing, fleeting moment, he’d meant it as a joke. He didn't expect that Natasha would agree, seeing as to how it has only been a few days since they finally met. To his surprise, she’d easily agreed. There was no hesitation, no qualms at all, not an ounce of uncertainty—Steve figures eventually that like him, there is nothing more certain to Natasha than wanting to return back to the place where it all started.

“Yknow, I love this place but I’ve always thought that it was too big for just one person.” Steve continues, diverging the topic slightly. “It always felt like something was missing.”

The corner of her lips tug upwards. “What does it feel like, now?”

The answer comes easily to him. Steve doesn’t even hesitate. “Home.” He says. “It feels like _home._ ”

* * *

As they prepare to bring the food out from the kitchen, Steve doesn’t miss the opportunity to steal a kiss from Natasha when she’d least expected it—a quick peck on her lips as he watches how her cheeks slowly turn red. “ _Rogers_ ,” She chides lightly having been caught off guard—her hands are full, so she doesn’t throw her arms around him on instinct to return his gesture. Steve merely grins, removing the plates from her hands and placing them onto the island. Without warning, he snakes his arms around her waist to pull her closer. Natasha curls into his embrace instinctively, her hands pressed against his chest as she feels the steady drum of his heartbeat. “So…all your friends are lovely. Melinda, too.”

“You think _Tony_ is lovely?” Natasha asks with an eyebrow arched, a hint of amusement in her tone. Steve lets out a low chuckle. “Well, he’s got an interesting character.”

Natasha laughs. “Definitely, but he means well. It was really nice to finally meet Bucky. It felt like meeting an old friend, to be honest, since you talked about him a lot in your letters.”

“I told you he adores you.” Steve grins, bringing up the memory of one of the first few letters he’d written to her. His thoughts flit to the box sitting in his study, the one he’d sealed away but kept safely in case he might need it again one day—that day has finally arrived. “I still keep them yknow. Your letters.”

She’s gazing into his eyes, her expression serene. “Me too.” She admits, a playful glint in her eyes as she smirks slightly. “So…do you _really_ like everything about me?”

Steve grins. “Absolutely. Your generosity and kindness, your wit and sarcasm.” He nudges her side teasingly. “Even when you nearly bit off my head in our first few exchanges.” Natasha lets out a laugh. “Bottom-line is, I like you for who you are, _Romanoff._ ”

“Did Bucky teach you to say that?” She smirks, ignoring the fact that there’s heat in her cheeks and her heart is thundering beneath her chest. “Or was it Sam?”

It is Steve’s turn to laugh. “No, ma’am. Those words are all me.”

“I’m flattered. But _Rogers_ , after saying all that,” Natasha breathes out, “are you going to kiss me or nah?”

Steve chuckles, cupping her face in his hands. “Yes, ma’am.” He says before leaning down to slant his lips against hers, their kiss soft and light. He could feel the way her body loosens instantly, how she’s melting into his embrace, parting her lips for him just as he deepens the kiss—

And then they hear someone awkwardly clearing his throat loudly behind them.

“Ugh,” Bucky is wincing slightly, diverting his eyes sideways, “get a _room_ , will ya?”

“ _Bucky_.” Steve groans as soon as he hears his best friend’s voice while Natasha quickly springs away from him. 

“What, would you have preferred Fury to walk in on you both?” Bucky remarks with a light tease, reaching for the jug of juice on the counter before sauntering out from the kitchen. “Don’t disappear for too long children, dinner waits for no one, not even two lovebirds in love.”

Steve’s face had gone so red from embarrassment that Natasha couldn’t help but burst into laughter. 

“Still think he’s lovely?” He asks as Natasha retrieves the plates he’d put down earlier. She taps one hand against his arm a few times, leaning in to whisper. “Yes, but we’ll continue this later, soldier.”

Natasha leaves, swaying her hips on purpose knowing that Steve has his eyes on her. He chuckles, then reaches for the remaining dish on the island before following her out from the kitchen.

* * *

The next morning, Natasha stands in the middle of the living room, taking in the view in front of her, Steve’s dress shirt loosely wrapped around her body. The sun is slowly rising, a little after dawn. Her breathing is slow, steady. It’s been almost two weeks since her first encounter with Steve, and since then, her heart has never felt this calm before. When she looks outside the glass panel and sees the water rippling across the lake, she could hear the low sounds of the lake water lapping against the rocks, hear the crickets sing. When she closes her eyes and imagines the serene surrounding, she could see the midnight glimmer and the noon purple glow. This time, she could finally see peace.

She hears him creeping behind her slowly, but Natasha doesn’t turn around to indicate that she’d noticed. Instead, she lets him wrap his arms tightly around her waist from the back, her lips curling into a small smile.

Steve plants a soft and long kiss on the curve of her shoulder. He could feel the slight shiver radiating from her, a response to the sudden contact. “Why are you out of bed?”

“Can’t sleep.” Natasha replies, drawing in his scent and smiling. “Why are _you_ out of bed?” She counters gently.

“Can’t sleep if you’re not there with me.”

“Cheesy.”

Steve laughs against her skin, his breath tickling her. In lieu to that comes a period of long, comfortable silence. Natasha leans closer into his chest, feels the steady stutter of his pulse as her hands curl around his wrists.

“Steve?” She breaks the silence, her voice low, a whisper. Steve hums as a response, of a sign that he’s listening even if he isn’t saying anything. “I’ve started dancing again, some time after your letter, actually.” 

When he hears that, Steve breaks into a smile, though he keeps mum, sensing that Natasha hasn’t finished her sentence. His silence prompts her to continue, “I’m only teaching Morgan now.” Natasha lets out a contented sigh. “And I love every moment of it.”

“That’s great,” He says, “I’m really proud of you.”

There’s a short pause before Natasha speaks again, “Pepper asked me if I would like to establish a ballet school of my own.”

It is an idea that is feasible, one that Steve thinks would do her good, but the tone of her voice suggests she doesn’t share the same thought as him. Steve is aware that there is hesitancy crawling in her mind, so he prompts her to continue. “But?”

“Teaching Morgan is one thing,” She explains slowly, "teaching a whole lot of kids whose parents entrust me to? That’s another thing.”

“I’m sure you would do a great job, Nat.” Steve doesn’t lie, he _knows_ she would.

“How sure are you?” Natasha expels a sigh. “You haven’t even seen me dance before.”

It is Steve’s turn to hesitate, a few seconds of silence passing by before he rests his chin lightly on Natasha’s shoulder. Then he says softly, “Who says I haven’t?”

Natasha frowns, an eyebrow arched. “Steve, what…”

“I went to your performance for the Nutcracker.” He confesses. “In 2018. The one you wrote was your last.”

The second she hears that, Natasha whirls her head around so fast that she nearly breaks the hold he has on her. “You _did?_ ” She asks, shocked.

Steve nods, their gaze meeting. “I was around in New York at that time. I had to watch, Nat.” He recalls the fond memory of seeing Natasha dance for the first time on stage, of how mesmerised he’d been as she pirouetted and jumped effortlessly in her routine. “I thought to myself how lucky I was to know you, even though we’ve technically never met at that time yet. Do you know how much it took from me not to approach you after the production ended?” 

“Why didn’t you?” The words slip out from her mouth before she could stop herself. The answer to her own question lies dormant in her mind, but it still exists and she knows it. Steve knows it, too; the timing was simply not right. She shakes her head, a sign which tells him that he doesn’t have to answer that question.

Instead, Natasha asks with a playful smirk, “So did you enjoy the production?”

Steve’s smile becomes wider. He doesn’t hesitate when he nods his head with conviction. “I may not be a dancer but I could tell that you were so graceful. So beautiful. I was completely mesmerised.”

Natasha laughs — it is like silver bells in his ears. “That is how I feel when I see your art, Steve.” 

Silence breaches over them then, but it isn’t one that is uncomfortable. Steve tightens his arms around her, pulling her closer to him until her head rests on his chest. Natasha closes her eyes, listening to his heartbeat while her own heart flutters in calm rhythms, the knots in her stomach finally unravelling. For the first time in a long time, she feels wholly at ease, contented. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

There’s a few seconds of silence before she continues, “I’m so sorry.” It is an apology that has been gnawing her mind for the longest of time, an apology she thinks Steve deserves to hear. Steve looks at her quizzically. “For giving up on us.” She simply explains.

“Don’t be.” Steve says almost at once, planting an assuring, soft kiss on the crown of her head. “I understand why you had to.”.

“I was terrified.” She whispers so softly that Steve almost misses it. “That we weren’t ever going to meet. So I ran away. I’m a coward.”

“No.” Steve shakes his head firmly. “You’re not. You had to, it was the right decision to make then.”

“Because of that, you had to wait for two more years. How is that fair?” Natasha questions, raising her head so that she could look into his eyes. She tries to find for any indication, something to show that Steve is still hurt from the decision she made to stop writing to him. But no matter how much she searches in his eyes, she couldn’t find any. Instead, what she finds is a contented gleam, the look of how much he cares for her. It’s the same look he’d given her yesterday in front of everyone else—it almost causes her to blush.

“The past was not meant for us, Nat. Besides,” Steve says easily, an explanation he knows to be true. “You’re worth the wait.”

She buries her face into his chest, feeling the warm heat creeping onto her cheeks. “Thank you, Steve. For waiting. For everything.”

He leans back slightly, just so he could tilt her head up with one hand, just so he could meet her eyes. With Natasha in his arms, he feels her in his heart; warm, steady, full of love and adoration. Their relationship, moulded by missed opportunities and timing; bridged by a chance encounter, of a love that transcends time and space made him realise a few things; when Steve sees her, he sees a woman destined to be in his life forever. There is an instinct which tells him that she won’t just be a footnote in his story—it is impossible, not when she’s chapters of his book, a sequel in the making. When he gazes into her sea-green eyes, as vast and deep as the ocean, he sees all his dreams come true. He isn’t aware that he would be capable of loving someone so much, but when he sees Natasha, he sees, _knows,_ that she is his everything.

So when the words spill out from his mouth, it is with conviction; the certainty and the belief of a happily ever after, of a forever. 

“Marry me, Natasha.”

When she hears those three words, Natasha could feel the butterflies fluttering into her stomach once again, an effect that is no stranger to her ever since she’d met Steve in the restaurant. Her eyes glisten with happy tears, of hearing words she’d never thought she would ever hear. This beautiful man in front of her, staring at her as though she is an ethereal being, wants to spend the rest of his life together with _her_ , for better and for worse—how did she get so lucky? 

“I thought you would never ask.” Natasha finally says, a smile spreading across her face slowly as she leans forward to close the small distance between them, their kiss tender and slow, gentle yet passionate. When she pulls back, it is to say something, the words that have settled themselves at the back of her mind, at the base of her heart, words reserved only for him. “I love you.” She breathes out calmly and sees the glow spreading across his face. “Surely you must know that.”

“I do. And I love you too.” He caresses her cheek gently, then brushes the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, resisting the urge to just lean down and capture her lips with his again. Steve’s heart is soaring. “I will _always_ love you.”

* * *

** THE END **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap!!! I hope you enjoyed this AU, and thank you for all your kudos/comments, and for following this fic from the beginning to the end. I doubt this will be the last you hear from me, I have two more AU ideas in my mind so it's all about writing them down. Till next time xx.


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